A Cup Half Full
by deeleigh
Summary: A collection of one shots. Spoilers for everything. B/B, of course.
1. Waiting on a Diamond an a Tether

**A/N: **Okay, since school is basically over, I was thinking I should probably make a commitment to something for the next three months. I have no inspiration whatsoever to write a complex multi chapter fic at the moment, so this will just be a collection of one shots, about whatever I want them to be about. Maybe later on in the summer, we'll get some juicy spoilers, and then maybe, just maybe, I could get something real going.

I'll say it now, and I will not repeat it. I DON'T OWN BONES. If I did, we would not have been left with such a ridiculous ending.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

_I know you can't hold out forever,_

_Waiting on a diamond and a tether_

_From a boy who won't swim,_

_But will dip his toe in_

_Just to keep you here with him_

_-Diamond and a Tether, Death Cab for Cutie_

We had had a bit too much to drink. Mistake number one. We picked up thai food for later. She bet me she could down her glass of wine faster than I could finish my beer. Mistake number two and three. Not only did I lose to Bones, but I made a bet. I mean, it didn't want me to go out and blow Parker's tuition savings, but I sure as hell got a rush from it. Maybe it was the alcohol? Let's blame it on that.

So, as we drunkenly stumbled into my apartment, after struggling with the lock and key for a minute, we slumped down on the couch as if we had just run a marathon. I was certainly tired enough.

It had been a tough case. Not an extremely emotional connection kind of tough. There were no foster children, no abusive fathers, and no murdered children. It had just been a disgusting one.

The victim - her name was Hana. Hana Leigh Scott - had been taken by some creep from outside a busy Starbucks at seven in the morning. No one had seen her. She just never brought her boss the damn vanilla latte she had asked for.

She, the victim, had been beaten, raped, and some other horrid things I would rather not think about when I was sitting beside Bones, my head spinning slightly.

She had her legs crossed, like Parker did when he sat on the carpet beneath us. She was attempting to eat a spring roll without getting a single crumb anywhere. She was successful until she dropped it right onto the floor; her usual lightning fast reflexes slowed by the drinks.

"Shit," she said. "Sorry." She stood, wobbled, steady herself, and headed for the kitchen. She returned in less than thirty seconds, picked up the spring roll, cleaned the floor, went back into the kitchen, and finally settling back on the couch.

I put my arm behind her an encircled her shoulders. I liked it like this, when it seemed as if we could stay like this forever. She leaned into me, rested her head on my shoulders. I definitely liked it like this.

She sighed heavily. I noticed the lingering question immediately. "Bones, what's wrong?"

"It's... I'm-" she sighed again. "I hate that I have to wait."

I felt my eyebrow rise on the left side. "Wait for what," I asked.

She gave me this look, the one she gets when she tries to say something squinty and I should understand it. As if what she is trying to say should be so damned obvious.

She shakes her head, "it doesn't really matter."

"Bones..." I warn. I really hate it when people bring things up, and never finish what they're saying. It makes me crazy.

"I hate waiting for 'someday' to come along." Her answer was blunt.

That's when I understood. She wasn't waiting for some random guy to come by and sweep her off her feet. The reason she gave me those looks - as if I should have known - was in plain sight. Her looks were actually appropriate. I should have known.

Alcohol doesn't make me violent like my dad, it doesn't turn me into an idiotic jackass like Jared. It makes me think way too quickly, and furthermore, act way too quickly.

With the alcohol and adrenaline from the minor gambling still rushing through my system, and now this sudden realization, I didn't feel so tired anymore. I didn't feel so old.

Bones made me feel young and strong.

She was patient, and she had passed that on to me. She is knowledgeable; she also gave me some of that.

Because now I know she is waiting.

Waiting for me.


	2. Do They Collide?

_I strain my eyes and try  
To tell the difference between_

_Shooting stars and satellites  
From the passenger seat _

_As you are driving me home_

_-Passenger Seat, Death Cab for Cutie_

The falling sunlight creates a texture in the expanse above. Colors dance across the sky as though mocking that of the world held beneath it. The car whispers to you as cityscapes flash by like memories in a dying man's eyes. Insignificant sights flee to and from each eye. One to the other like some menacing game.

You sit there like a guardian towering over her pretending to watch the scenery, although at this point it's too black to see it. When you close your eyes or look away you can feel her eyes scanning you, as if the longer she stares, the more she'll be able to figure out. Tell me when you do, you think to yourself.

You lead her from the car, you hadn't been here in years. It was beautiful in the spring. You took her by the hand an lead her up the hill. Funny how that is all that you two ever seem to do; help each other to some unknown, higher destination. Help each other achieve something great.

This trip was not for such a purpose. This was for simple pleasure. You wanted to convince her of a beauty much bigger than the two for you. The sun would be setting soon, you needed to hurry up. You quickened your pace, pulling her along behind you.

When you reached the top, you let go of her hand, the contact unnecessary and unprofessional. You lay down the blanket you had taken from the back of your truck, and motioned for her to lie down. You lay down beside her.

You both remained there, silent for a long, long while, simply watching the night sky take away the daylight. Your head rested in your hands, and she was mimicking your position.

You both stayed once the sun had been swallowed by the sea, and watched the stars --which you rarely had the chance to see, living in The City -- illuminate the darkness above. You may have almost forgotten she was there until she took your hand in hers.

Such a small gesture could easily speak volumes. You slowly moved closer to her, and placed your arm under her head. She leaned into you, resting her head in the crook of your neck. "It's beautiful here," was all she said.

Your bodies trade temperatures like people often do names when getting acquainted. They say, "Hello. Do you come here often?" They hadn't before but perhaps now they will, as a retaliation of this new companionship.

You walked her back to the truck some time later, and this time, instead of hand in hand, your arm was around her shoulders, her's around your waist. It's funny how you could both be so different, and still fit so perfectly together. How funny it was that love could make you one.

The car slurs past a sidewalk causing a breeze to pass along the walk, out of which grows a flower. How strange a place for it to grow, for like this flower...love often blooms in unlikely places.


	3. I Must be Lonely

**A/N:** Wow, I just wrote three little drabbles in under two hours (this one is quite short, infact.) I'm actually really proud of myself. Maybe you enjoy this too? And maybe you could let me know?

_She believes that life is made up of all that you're used to  
And the clock on the wall has been stuck at three for days, and days  
She thinks that happiness is a mat that sits on her doorway _

_-3 a.m. , Matchbox 20_

It's hard for her. That much was obvious. Although she tried to hide everything from everyone -- except when he got her alone, when he let her be vulnerable-- she's not very good at hiding her true feelings. They are reflected in her eyes, and in her stance. It's visible in the way she bites her lip, and in the way her shoulders fall slightly when he walks away.

It's hard for her to know that everything she has ever really wanted is so close, but she is far too afraid to reach out to take it in her hand. She can't jump into the water, for she is afraid she may forget how to swim. If she could just open the door to her heart, and let him in. If she hid the key under her doormat, told him it was there and said "come on in, whenever you're ready...I'll be waiting." The key would be hidden until he took it from under the welcome mat, slid it into the lock and went on in. She couldn't though; she was far to desperate to keep him right outside her door, checking on him every once in a while through the window.

Little did she know that he would willingly break down her door to get to her. Even though his lock picking skills were excellent, he'd told her once that "a lock worth picking is a lock worth kicking," and he planned to stand by it. He wouldn't damage her home more than necessary though. He didn't want to cause her more pain.

He could wait for her to hide the spare key under the welcome mat.

It was hard for him to wait.

That much was obvious.


	4. Acknowledgments

For their willingness to help, and for the knowledge and support they provide, I owe thanks to many.

No one works alone, and I am certainly no different. While the fiction here glamorizes the individual heroics of the lone scientist or detective, real police work involves participation of many.

Jack Hodgins, Ph.D., The Jeffersonian Institute, is the bug guru, and always will be. Camille Soryan, Ph.D. and cop, provided endless information on "the art of pathology". Mush thanks to the Department of Geology at Kansas State University for sharing their knowledge on strontium isotope analysis. Robert Leslie, Ph.D., professor of linguistics and director of the Forensic Linguistics Project, McGill University was a huge help.

Thanks go out to my forensic facial reconstruction artist, and friend Angela. You always have words of encouragement and love.

My brother Russ helped with the more complex geography of The Windy City. Also, thank you to his wife, who wished to remain nameless, for putting up with not only him, but me as well.

Heartfelt thanks to my editor Laura Daniels -- this book benefited greatly from your advice.

There are others who helped, but wish to stay anonymous. You know who you are; thank you all greatly.

I also need to thank my readers, for without them all these words would mean nothing.

Last, but most definitely not least, my sincere thanks go out to special Agent Seeley Booth, whom without this book would never have been completed. I need to thank him for saving this work, reminding me of my talent and keeping me honest. My deepest thanks are for him; he makes sure that all the science in my books are understandable to the public. He has saved my life countless times. But most importantly, he is always there when I need a shoulder-- he is always there to be my best friend.

He is there to make jokes about Andy being based on himself, when in reality, he is so much better.

All mistakes are my own, please do not blame any of persons mentioned above. If I have forgotten t thank someone, I apologize.


	5. Because of What it Cost You

**A/N:** I'm thinking that maybe in the fifth season, WHEN Booth gets his memory back, this might happen. Or someone else from his childhood.

And maybe you want to review?

_I looked at you and knew  
You were the only thing that mattered  
There was no one for me but you_

_-Barricade, Stars_

We were at my apartment for a change, not hers. It had been a relatively peaceful evening. Although we had spent most of the day in court, once we were called, we were dismissed. We claimed that we had _actual_ work to do, as Bones had put it. That since she was the only forensic anthropologist until Quebec, she had quite a busy schedule. They let us go. All the other witnesses gave us dirty looks as we exited the court house for the day.

We then walked back to the Hoover building, seen as for some idiotic reason Cam had driven us to the court house. "It's beautiful outside," she'd said. "Why don't we walk, and save a bit of the planet from global warming?" I had agreed.

We attempted to do paperwork, but got little done. We sat in my office making jokes about the passing agents, tried to name all the states ( and of course Bones could), and I talked to her about the Stanley Cup finals. By nine, we were at my apartment with thai food and beer, again attempting the paperwork and, once again, failing.

At around eleven, the phone rang, and when I saw the caller ID, I was tempted to not answer it. I put it on speaker phone so Bones wouldn't think I was blowing her off, or being rude or whatever.

"Booth."

"Seeley?"

"Hey Mom..." What do you say to someone you never talk to? Nothing, 'cause you never talk to them.

"Seeley," she sounded teary, "it's your father." Bones stood up and left the room that second. I took the phone off speaker and held it to me ear. "He had a heart attack, he's dead." Then she burst into tears.

"I'll be there by three tomorrow, Mom." In the other room, I heard Bones calling people, telling them I would be unavailable until further notice -- that further notice would most likely arrive in about a week. I hung up the phone and I could still hear Bones talking to someone. A hotel? She was giving out her credit card number; it had to be a hotel. She's got to be the most perfect human being on the planet if she knows that I can't stay over night in that house.

I just sat on the couch starring blankly at the TV. Bones came back into the room a few minutes later. She sat beside me, and said nothing for a moment. Then she turned to me. "I called everyone I could think of: Cullen, Cam, Rebecca, and I booked you a hotel room... I - I didn't know if you would want to stay with Jared..."

"Yeah, thanks Bones." I replied blandly. I felt bad because she was being so excellent, but I could barely form a thought. I reached for her hand, without really knowing I was doing it, and held it tightly.

She squeezed back. "Booth... " She was having a tough time asking her question, maybe she didn't want to be out of line. "Do you, uhm, do you want me to go with you?"

God, I thought she'd never ask. "Please do, Bones."

She sat back on the couch, leaning her head over the back of it, and sighed. "I'm sorry about your father, Booth."

I scoffed. "I'm not. The asshole had it coming."

She sighed, choosing not to comment. She squeezed my hand one last time, and stood slowly. "I'll be expecting you to pick me up tomorrow morning? Our flight leaves at 8:30. I booked first class seats, I thought it would make you feel better. And don't worry," she grinned cheekily, "I charged it to the Jeffersonian."

I actually laughed at that, which is hard to accomplish when the self loathing is high. "Thanks, Bones. I'll pick you up at, I don't 7:15?"

"See you then," she answered as she quietly slipped out the door.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

We got through security quickly, since I can just flash my badge and we're both through. Bones gave me the window seat.

We were about thirty minutes from Philly when I finally let my gaze leave the sky outside the window and turned to look at her.

Bones was just sitting there, starring at nothing in particular. Just starring straight ahead. I guess she finally felt my gaze on her, because she turned and looked at me questioningly. I just smiled at her. She smiled back, but cocked an eyebrow.

My smile grew a little wider. "Bones?" I asked.

"Yeah, Booth?"

"Thanks for coming with me."

"Booth, it's no--" I interrupted her. She hates when I do that.

"No, Bones, it means a lot. And the fact that you knew, without me ever telling you, that I could never stay in that house. You just understood that I would need a hotel room. You understood that I would need a nice seat. You understood, without me saying anything to you, that I would need you with me... to keep me strong."

Then I took a big chance, and leaned in closer to her face. "It is a big deal, Bones, 'cause I couldn't do it without you." I looked her straight in the eye.

"Booth," she said, "I would do anything for you." When I looked into her eyes again, I knew in that very instant that I would never be okay without her. That no matter what, I could never be happy with anyone else. She finished the gap between us, and gently pressed her lips to mine.

Considering it was our first _real_ moment, it wasn't at all like I had imagined. We didn't rip our clothes off in a mad frenzy. We didn't join the Mile High Club.

It was simple, and sweet. And while it caused my pulse to beat a bit too fast, and my heart to grow a few sizes too much, it was somehow calming. Relief? Maybe.

When I pulled back to look at her, she smiled at me.

I looked at her and I knew. I knew that everything would be alright, as long as she was there by my side.

To be my Bones.


	6. You Better Hope You're Not Alone

**A/N:** This one is basically a tag for EitB. I've written a fair amount of these, and I try to stay away from them, but the ideas just keep me up all night.

Thanks for all the reviews, by the way. If I haven't replied to you, I'm sorry, but I figured you would rather read more of this than just me rampling about how awesome you all are.

**A/N2:** Also, if anyone wants something written specifically, feel free to ask. I love a challenge, and the feeling that comes from writing something for someone else.

_It will teach you to love what you're afraid of  
After it takes away all that  
You learn to love  
But you don't always  
Have to hold your head  
Higher than your heart_

_-Hope, Jack Johnson_

She was just sitting on your couch. She wasn't speaking -- she didn't do much of that with anyone any more.

You felt sorry for her.

That was one of the first things you learn when you study in psycology; don't be sympathetic, but have empathy. Empathy, what an idiotic idea. How could anyone understand what it was like to be her in a time like this? How were you supossed to put yourself in her shoes?

You knew that she loved him. Hell, even the nurses knew that she loved him. You had known -- it was your job to know -- but you had no idea as to how in the hell she was dealing with this.

You had told her that the session was mandatory. You had told her that you didn't give two shits if she was working Limbo cases, if she didn't make her own way to your office, you would go to the Jeffersonian and piss her of until she agreed to cooperate.

Here she was. One point for you, zero for her.

When she has come into the office, you told her to sit.

"How're you feeling, Dr. Brennan?" you'd asked.

"You told me I had to be here, you never said I had to talk about anything while I was here."

Tie game, one-one.

So, you had both spent the past thirty seven minutes starring at each other. You only had twenty three minutes left to convince her that she missed him.

You let the silence rest for another minute, then you leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, "You know Dr. Brennan," you started. "Agent Booth hated when we sat here in silence."

She inhaled deeply. "He can't hate it anymore," she replied bitterly. "He doesn't hate it anymore. He can't." She quickly wiped her eyes with her sleeve, trying to stop her tears. "He wouldn't know why he hated it."

You were finally getting somewhere. You just had to keep her talking. You had to make her realize that she was aloud to be hurt.

"But wouldn't you like to honour that part of him? Just because he doesn't know that part of him, doesn't mean that you don't. You know him." She wiped her eyes again. "You," you repeated, "know him."

She bit her lip as if she was trying to hold herself together in the simple act.

"Dr. Brennan, your bestfriend is essentially gone. Sure, he will eventually get better, at least that's what the doctors have told you, but right now, in this dire moment, when you need him the most, he's not here.

"I've worked with the both of you for long enough to know that he cared about you. A lot. And you care about him. You still do. He does still care. I saw it in his face when I went to talk to him. He didn't know that he knew me -- he just thought I was some young kid who had just graduated. He kept asking if you were okay, although he didn't know why he was so worried. He just said he had to make sure.

"Dr. Brennan, you're aloud to be upset. The person that you love--" She interrupted you.

"I don't love hi--" Two could play at that game.

"Don't lie to me Dr. Brennan. Do you really think that I care that much? Everyone knows. Everyone can see it. Even Booth saw it, even now he knew. You've denied it for long enough, don't you think?"

She ran her hand through her hair, the wiped her eyes again.

"Sweets, stop it." You were really getting to her. She hated it. Two-one for the psycologist.

"No, Dr. Brennan. You need to hear it. Angela won't say anything to you, because she doesn't want you to hurt more than you already do. She won't let Hodgins say anything to you either. Cam won't say anything because she doesn't knwo how to approach you. I don't want you to hurt either, but I want you to help him. You owe him that much. You owe it to yourself."

She took a deep breath. "Don't you think I know that, Sweets? Don't you think that I realize that he's not here anymore? Don't you think that I wish that I could make it better, but I know deep down that there is little that I can do? I know, Sweets! I really do. I know that the chances of him coming out of this are close to none."

You really had set her off. She was crying more freely now, her hands shaking slightly. "I know that I let him convince me that there was more to life than the moment. He let me hope that one day, maybe, we could have something more. Then I was taught something new; that no matter how easy it for you to give yourself to someone, no matter how much you love them or how much they promise to never leave you, it's never true. You can learn to love someone, and then real life comes back and takes it all away. It can be taken away so quickly that you might not even believe that it happend.

"I thought that maybe it was all a bad dream. He couldn't have brain cancer, he's Booth, that doesn't happen to him. He couldn't suffer from amnesia, it just couldn't happen to him. But you know what, Sweets? I woke up, day after day for the past three weeks, and every day I hoped that maybe today he would remember that he doesn't call me Dr. Brennan, and day after day, I had that hope taken away a little more. Just like how every morning, I've been losing a little more of him."

She looked at her watch. "I'm leaving." She said nothing more and left your office.

You learn to never feel bad for anyone -- that they need to be strong and rise above their problems with fists, and fight through it. But her, well, for her you could never feel empathy.

You could never walk a day in her shoes.

It would be far too painful.


	7. With Every Particle of Me

**A/N:** This is based on the new (and vague) season 5 spoilers. I liked that Hart apalogized. If you haven't read the article in TV Guide, I would look it up and read it before you read this. It will be much clearer. For all of you who guessed that Booth was simply confused, way to go. I had some thoughts about that, but I just assumed it was far too simple. Anyways, here's another tidbit. Also, feel free to make requests. I'll gladly write 'em.

Also, I want to apologize if there are any errors, my spellchecker is being very difficult at the moment.

----------------------

_I am here to right my wrong  
And offer my condolences  
For moments come and gone  
I am sorry I was wasted  
On the places that you love_

_-Ignoble, Kiersten Holine_

Eventually, things were back to normal for the two of them. Well, as normal as they could get. It had been tough for them, that was fairly certain. He had been confised momentarily. Was she Bren, or was she Bones? As soon as he'd asked her, he knew it was his Bones.

He knew he'd hurt her. She knew he knew.

He had had a hard time seperating certain things. He knew that they weren't married, that Sweets probably wasn't in a band, and he knew that Hodgins wasn't a crime novelist.

But there were some things, that when he thought about it, he realized they could have happened in the dream and in reality. They could be having a baby. She'd asked him, hadn't she? He'd said yes... right? He loved her. He certainly wanted that to be real. He needed for her to know that he loved her. He wanted to show her.

He knew that they didn't make jokes about being Bonnie and Clyde, and he knew that they didn't own a night club. He definitely knew he didn't wear that stupid hat. He prayed to God that she didn't see him in such a stupid hat.

He told her about most of the dream. The basic story of it. But he would never have dared tell her what had happened behind the walls of his apartement. He wanted it to be true. It easily could have been. He just didn't know.

He didn't want to risk telling her that he wasn't sure, because he wanted it to be true. He couldn't risk her denying it. He didn't want that memory to disappear.

So, he kept pretending that he was sure it had happned. He didn't say anyhting to her, he didn't try to make it happen again. He knew that if it was true, she would put herself behind a wall -- denial. That's all it was.

They were in the SUV, leaving a crime scene. It was a Tuesday. They picked up Thai food, and went to her place. They looked over crime scene photos, reviewed the witness accounts, and made plans to contact possible suspects for tomorrow.

It was nearly eleven when he finally rested his head against the back of her couch. He sighed deeply through his nose.

She turned to him, her too resting her head against the couch. "What's wrong, Booth?"

"Bones, it's nothing."

It was her turn to sigh. "Then why did you express signs of emotional distress?"

He couldn't help but smile. "You're really gettin' good at this whole people thing, Bones."

She frowned. "Are you being sarcastic?" She crossed her arms, "because you know that I can never tell."

He rolled his head so that he was facing her. "You are actually getting better, Bones. Really, you are. It's strange. I don't know. It's just... I don't know how to explain it -- not knowing what's real."

She bit her lip. "Try?"

"It's complicated." He was trying to avoid the entore conversation.

"Booth, most things are. Brain surgery is complicated. The human skeleton is complicated. You are complicated, and so am I." She was getting frustrated quickly, which had become somewhat of a trend with ehr since the surgery. "You know what else is fucking complicated, huh Booth? This. I try and I try to be a good friend, and you still don't trust me enough to even attempt to explain what you're feeling. Yet, I'm always supposed to let you know. If I don't, I'm being 'distant'.

"How the fuck is that fair? This relationship has never been equal. There will always be things that You're better at, or that I'm better at -- I've accepted that fact. But knowing that I trust you with everything that I am, and you can't even explain one little thing, that is _not _even close to acceptable."

How the mood of the evening had changed so quickly, he didn't know. He really pissed her off. "Bones... Come on."

"No, Booth, you come on. I don't ask you anything. I don't ask about your father, I didn't ask about your comtemplated suicide, I don't ask about your brother. I never ask about your time as a sniper. I don't ask about when you went to college, or where you went or what you studied. I don't ask about what you did during those two weeks that you were dead. I don't ask you anything, Booth. And when I do, for once, ask you about something as simple as a dream, you can't even return the trust that I hand you every day. You can't even let me try to be your friend."

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve absent mindedly.

Booth leaned back onto the back of the couch again, and closed his eyes.

There was a thick tension in the room for a few moments, although they really felt like years, decades even.

"English," he said.

Brennan looked up at him. "What?"

"I studied English Lit. I know right, what good is that? But I liked it. I like the classic stuff. It was simple, and honest. It was true, you know? There were no lying, abusive fathers. It was just love..." he paused and looked at her. "It wasn't like this. It wasn't so damn hard.

"Bones, I know that I'm far from perfect, but it's hard sometimes."

"Booth, I think I understand." His eyes were seaking verification. "You get used to not talking about it. At first, no one believes you. Then people just think you're being whiny and difficult, so you shut up. You get so used to no one listening or caring, that you almost believe that they're right. That maybe you are being over dramatic. Eventually, you stop trying to get people to understand. Then, when someone asks you, finally someone just cares enough to want to know -- to help, you don't how to say it, because you got so used to never saying anything, that you can't really remember how to explain it.

"Booth, I get it. But I didn't ask to talk about your child hood. All I wanted to know was what was upsetting you. Obviously there's a lot of things that are bothering you right now, and I'm sorry that I brought it up."

The mood had changed swiftly again.

Booth grabbed Brennan's hand, and turned it over. He ran his fingers over her palm, circling a scar in the very center of her hand.

"Bones, I realized something. A while ago, but I was so stupid, that I was far too scsared to do anything about it. There have been so many times, that have come and gone, where I just wanted to tell you everything..."

"But it's hard sometimes." She completed. "This is hard sometimes."

He circled the scar on her palm again, and she looked up at him. "Cigar," she said. "I was seventeen." He raised her hand to his mouth and placed a light kiss there.

She ran her fingers over his jaw. "Mandibular fracture," she said, as she ran her hands over the bone there, feeling the palce where it had broken. "Most likely attained between the ages twelve and fifteen." She then ran her hand over his nose. "This bumb right here," she said as she touched it lightly, "is the result of multiple breaks."

Her hands took his hand, and rotated his wrist. "Radius was fractured; that's why you can't turn it as far as you should."

She pulled her shirt down, to expose her collarbone. She took his hand and ran it over the bone, showing him where it had broken. "I was thrown down the stairs." His eyes showed so much pain.

"Bones..."

"Booth, no one is perfect. And I'm so sorry that everything that has happened to you ever happened, but I know that I can't take it away. And I also know that I hurt you. I should have considered that you would want to be apart of the baby's life. I should have known."

"Bones," he said, "I know that this is hard, that life is hard. But I also know that if anything was worth all that has happened to you and me, that it would be this."

He kissed her lightly, and pulled away slightly. His eyes were still closed. "You're worth it."

**A/N2: **On a slightly different page, to mention that I find it kind of funny that Fow kept threatening to not re-new Bones for so long, and then they not only re-new it for one, but two new seasons! And, they're using it as a filler for all the empty timeslots, plus it's normal time on the regular night. I thought it was odd.


	8. I Already Know How This Will Go

**A/N: **I'm really enjoying this, I hope you are too. This one is a bit short, I apologize; finals are not being kind to me. Also, the Fray does an excellent cover of this song, you should listen to it! Review? :)

Oh, and if you want anything specific, feel free to ask -- I don't bite, I promise.

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_Somewhere far along this road,  
He lost his soul to a woman so heartless...  
How could you be so heartless?_

_-Heartless, Kanye West_

_-------_---

He obviously cared about her, anyone could see it. The way he turned to look at her when she spoke, the way he walked her into the room, and the pet name he had for her, Bones, where the hell did that come from?

Anyone on the street could see that he was hopelessly devoted to her. I mean, even I saw it, and I only talked to them for a few minutes.

It was pretty basic, I guess, although I've never been interviewed by the FBI before. It felt like I was on TV, sort of, just a bit more intimidating. The questions seemed standard. "What was your relationship with him?" and "When did you last see him?", that kind of thing.

He let her ask, as if she needed permission. She looked at him questioningly, he smiled, and nodded for her to continue.

She has his soul, from what I saw, in, what, fifteen minutes.

That's when I realized who she was. Oh my God, I had been standing next to _the _Temperance Brennan, and I hadn't even noticed. She was much more beautiful in person, without all the smoky-eyed make up. She looked like the kind of woman who was most beautiful in her pyjama's.

"I think that's it," she said, and turned to her partner -- again seeking reassurance.

"That's it," he repeated, again with the smile. "Thank you for your time."

"Uhm, Dr. Brennan," I asked. "I, could you sign a copy of my book, please?"

She seemed hesitant. I bet she never does anything like that.

"I, uh..." she looked at her partner again and sighed. "I guess I could, yes."

I went over to the book shelf and her newest novel, which was by far my favourite. She didn't write anything in it, just her name.

"Thank you," was all I said.

It seemed impersonal, and arbitrary. Why would I have her sign my book if I didn't like her writing. She may be a wiz with words, and whatever kind of scientist she was, but she was obviously insecure, and seemingly cold.

As they exited my living room, I heard her ask him if he thought I did it; she couldn't even wait to leave my house. Bitch.

I could kill her. Maybe I could. If I get away with this one, well... You never know.

He obviously cared about her, but she obviously heartless.


	9. Is it You and Me?

**A/N:** If you haven't personally gotten a reply for your reviews, I'm very sorry, and thank you very much.

----------------_  
Why did you not show up?  
I waited for an hour  
I finally gave up_

-Personal, Stars

----------------

She was genuinely excited for her date. Not only was she looking forward to, you know, 'satisfying biological urges', but she seemed to really like this guy. Not only did you have a problem with her going out with someone other than you, but she met him online. Online...really? She was so beautiful, and so incredibly intelligent, and yes, she was very humorous. So why, you asked yourself, couldn't she meet a guy like everyone else did? Or just not meet any at all, cause that would be fine with you too.

But, God, she was so excited.

She told you all about him. He was a lawyer or stock broker, you couldn't remember which. He graduated top of his class from some fancy school. He told her she was beautiful, from what he could tell in her photo. She told you that she liked it that he took the time to tell her that.

Her beauty was so much more than what could ever be captured in a photograph. You almost hated that more than the fact that she had a date... with someone other than you.

He was taking her out to some stupid vegetarian place. Obviously, he was just trying to impress her -- you knew that. But still, she liked that that was where she was going on her date.

Anyways, because you were just _that_ cool, you didn't have any plans for Saturday night. Saturday night was like the weekly version of Valentine's Day. It reminds you that you have no one to go waste a whole pay check on, only to give them jewellery, or some other perfunctory gift. It's the time of week that you spent with the person that, come next February 14th, you'd be wasting your money on. Or, it was the day of week where you went out with other people to find even more people that could potentially fill that spot. That's just what you were supposed to do; unless of course you were a loser.

That's what you were --you'd accepted it. You sat at home watching sports game highlights and old movies, eating left over Thai food or pizza on Saturday nights.

But that was only because the only person you would ever want to waste that much money on was out with some guy -- whom she met online, of all places.

She told you she would talk to you tomorrow. You knew that she would call. You just didn't want it to be put off until later because there was "some guy" there until ten o'clock.

It was around nine-thirty when you heard the knock on your door. You recognized it right away. You tried to hide the smile on your face before you opened up the door.

"Hey," was all you could squeak out. She was so amazing. Her hair was curled, and fell nicely on her shoulders. She was wearing a plain grey dress that made her legs look more endless than normal. "Come on in, Bones," you managed after a few seconds.

"Thanks," she quietly replied. She went straight for your couch, and threw herself down onto it.

"Uh, want a beer?" She looked up at you and smiled. She nodded. You snuck off to get her and yourself a drink. When you returned to the living room, you sat beside her and handed her the Australian brew. It was her favourite, so you always made sure that you had some in your fridge. "So, Bones, what's up?"

"I waited there for a whole fucking hour. He never showed, never called. He just blew me over."

"Off, Bones. He blew you _off_," you corrected.

"Whatever. That's what I meant."

You smiled and draped your arm around the back of the couch. "Yeah, I know." You needed to make her feel better. "Bones, he's evidently an asshole. If he can't realize how amazing you are, he must be insane. I mean, hell, look at you -- look at that dress, and your hair; Bones, you look amazing. Not to mention that you are basically the greatest person to ever have lived -- other than Han Solo, I mean."

She just looked at you again, and smiled. "Han Solo never actually lived, Booth. He was imagined. Star Wars, no matter what you think, is not reality."

"You have seen Star Wars?!"

"Of course I've seen Star Wars, Booth."

"See, Bones, how could that guy not be a total idiot?" She mumbled a sarcastic comment that you didn't catch. "What's that, Bones?"

She exhaled deeply through her nose. "Nothing, Booth." She then took a huge gulp of her beer and sat it on the coffee table. You took her hand and turned her towards you.

"Bones, listen, okay? Don't rationalize, or compartmentalize, or any other squint like thing, alright? Just listen." She nodded. "Bones, you're an amazing person. You're compassionate, and funny, and, although I know you don't need _that_ much of an ego boost, you're basically a genius. You're beautiful, and caring, and the best friend I've ever had. Any guy who doesn't see any of that -any guy who is stupid enough to actually impress you enough to get a date, and then not show- he has to be completely bli-"

You were interrupted by her lips crushing your own. It was maybe the best feeling ever. No. Definitely the greatest. Why hadn't you two been doing this before?

"Thank you, Booth," she whispered after the best minutes of your life. You pulled back from her and ran your hand over her cheek.

"Oh, Bones. It's no problem." It felt like she was leaning into her touch... Was she? You rested your forehead against her own and smiled shyly.

"Tell me something else, Booth," she asked quietly.

You put on that smile, the one you save just for her. "Well, Bones, wanna know a secret?" She nodded without separating her forehead from yours. You ran your hand down her arms, then back up, and back down again. You intertwined your finger with hers. You kissed her nose, then her cheeks, and every bit of her face that you could manage, until returning to her lips again. "I've wanted to be able to do this for God knows how long."

"Too long," she said before she crushed herself to you once again.

She leaned forward until she was stradling you. Her hands ran up to hold you face, and you held her around her waist, keeping her next to you.

"I waited for an hour," she said.

"I've waited longer," was all you could manage before you let her reel you in, making your relationship as personal as possible.


	10. I Can't Seem to Slow Down

_Running from the fear of not knowing where to go  
From the question I don't ask and the answers I don't know  
I'm running through myself and everybody else  
And I'm running, running to you_

_-I'm Running, Mistress Barbara feat. Sam Roberts_

---------------

Ultimately, there is litte that is actually attainable in life. We circle each other in a universe of endless possibilities. We fight and we cry and we pray that something might maybe go our way, when in reality, most of our wishes and hopes and dreams go unheard, unchanged.

We run from a fate that has been sealed. We run from the past and from the future. And never do we stop to take a look at the future. Not once do we real think about how greatful we should really be.

There are certain things we can control-- how you act, how others percieve us and how we percieve them. Yet, when find things that could easily be both in and out of our control, we do nothing but let those things control us. We sit back and let life just... happen.

We watch chances pass, wishing so desperately that we could seize those opportunities and run with them. And still, for some idiotic reason, we are running from them.

When we see two people, and know - feel- that they should be together, we hope that maybe they won't keep doing figure eights around each other. That maybe, just maybe, they might have more guts than we do.

Maybe they fight and cry and pray more often than we do; and maybe they deserve for it to happen. Who really knows?

Maybe she had a bad childhood. Maybe he did. Maybe they both did.

Maybe he never really had a bestfriend before her. He might have been the quarterback, and he might have hit a handful of homeruns. Maybe he stuck up for his kid brother. He could have fought in a war--maybe he was good at it. Maybe he pretended (or pretends, even) to be a real tough guy, and maybe everyone believe him.

Maybe she'd only ever had one real friend before him. Maybe she'd known fromt he start that she would need to fight for everything she wanted. She may have achieved greatness all on her own, but maybe she was lonely. She might have frames full accomadations, and certificates of achievement. But maybe she's just as scared as all of us.

Maybe they're both scared that although they are both so close, the other might be one of those things that you circle forever-- one of the things that takes your sense of control and throws it out the window. Maybe it's just one of those things in life that is never really attainable.


	11. Can't Breathe Without You, But I have To

**A/N:** This one had a bit of harsh language; you've been warned. Also, it has some (vague) season 5 spoilers in it. I apologize if that's not your can of worms. And once again, my spellchecker is being a total douchebag, and has decided not to work. Again, I'm sorry.

I also thought that I should mention that Booth and Brennan do not belong to me, but only to each other.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

_And we know it's never simple, never easy  
Never a clean break, no one here to save me  
You're the only thing I know like the back of my hand_

_-Breathe, Taylor Swift feat. Colbie Caillat_

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I really hate it when we fight. Not just bicker, but full on screaming matches. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, it makes me want to jump off a bridge. It got to be the most painful thing to see.

When she's really mad, and I mean _really _mad, she gets this look like she can remember a time just like this one, where she was only a teenager. It breaks my heart, but still I can't find it within myself to just give in. I'm an asshole; it's the only answer I've got as to why I do this.

"Bones, just stop, okay? Just shut up for one second." I can't seem to stop myself though. I guess in some ways, I'm exactly what I didn't want to become: my father.

She seemed to step back and towards me at the same time. "Don't talk to me like that, Booth." She definitely stepped closer then. "Why do you always have to tell me what to do, or how to act, huh? I'm a fully grown human being, and I can act however I want, and I can belief whatever I want. So, no, you 'just stop'."

I sat down on her couch. I bet Angela is hiding outside her office doors somewhere trying to see what's going on. I rested my head in my hands. I exhaled through my nose and looked up to find her still standing near her desk, just glaring at me.

"Bones, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Shit, I did it again.

"What," she spat.

"I said, what the fuck is wrong with you?" She look like she was going to throw a damn stapler at me. "Bones, seriously. Why do you always feel the need to tell me that what I feel is wrong. Professionally, you always accepted my opinions, but why now, when it's just about you and me, why can't you just fucking get off your high horse and listen to what I'm saying and maybe consider that it's right? Why the hell can't you just understand that no matter what you say, I don't care what science says about it."

"Booth, leave." I didn't move. "Now."

"No, Bones, I'm not leaving."

"Booth, I'll call security." I scoffed.

"Bones, I basically am security. So tough shit, you're gunna have to listen to me. "

"Fuck you."

I sighed. I hate it when she gets like this. At least we weren't in the car, like last time. In her office, there was no way for her to jump out of a moving car. "Bones, come on."

"Come on what, Booth? This is insane. I don't need to hear this."

I stood up and walked over to her, and used my size to my advantage--which she hates. I advanced on her until she was against the wall. "Bones..." I pleaded. "I know it's hard for you to understand, because well, you understand so, so much, and then here I am trying to explain something with no evidence. I know it pisses you off, but that doesn't make it any less true."

I placed one of my hands on the wall, restricting her to where she stood.

"Bones, you're so amazing at so much. You're fucking brilliant, and it's hard sometimes. You have more than one successful career, you have friends that love you. I know that your life wasn't perfect, I'm not saying that it was, but you..."

I don't know how the hell was supposed to explain how incredible is if I don't even know.

"Bones, you, just you, is all that I'm really good at. You are all that I was ever meant to be good at. You, Bones are all that I really have. I know that it's hard for you to understand. I really do, but sometimes you just need to listen.

"Sometimes you need to just need to feel, and you have to accept what I feel-- what I know."

"Booth. We. Did. Not. Have. Sex." She looked really pissed off again. "Leave it alone, okay? It never happened. You must have dreamed it or hallucianted it. It didn't happen. Now, leave."

"Bones, I know that it was real. I _felt_ it. I still feel it. When I look at you, I know that it happened. You can't run from it."

She ducked out from under my arm and went over to her desk. She sat down in her chair, and swiffled it from side to side. She wiped her eyes, trying to hide it from me. "Booth," she whispered. "You really need to leave." She wiped her eyes with her sleeve again. "Please," she begged.

I sighed. "Yeah, uh, call me when you find something on the body."

"I will."


	12. Shock You Like You Won't Believe

**A/N**: Katy Perry does a pretty cool cover of this song... Just so you know.

--------------------------------------------

_You can feel it in your mind  
Oh, you can do it all the time  
Plug it in and change the world  
You are my electric girl  
Shock me like an electric eel  
Baby girl, turn me on with your electric feel _

_-Electric Feel, MGMT_

--------------------------------------------

It was like an electric shock. Down your spine, up your arm, through your back. It felt like a damn electrical current.

Everytime your partner touched you, it felt like lightning.

Like lightning, it was accompanied by the thunder of your heart. It burns up to 54,000 degrees, burning you to the core. It travels as quickly as 60,000 miles per second.

It felt like a current riping through you; completely out of your control and more intense than any knowledge could explain.

It could stop you in mid step, and leave you charred. Longing for more.

More than some damn high voltage bolt down your spine, something so much more powerful than that.

Yet, it was strong enough that even once your partner had long gone, you could feel the current underneath your skin.

You felt the remain sparks as your partner turned around before walking out a door, or when you both looked up over your cups of coffee. The sparks could illuminate the little diner long after you both left. And the next people to sit in your chairs would feel the static left behind.

You could feel it through the glass of your office walls, and you could feel it when your partner knocked on your door.

It was like a bolt of lightning when your partner said your name. You heart would beat a little faster.

But all the shock waves and electric feels were no match for when cerulean met chocolate, when your partner's hand covered your cheeks and all you felt was the beating of your partner's heart, completely in sync with your own, and all you could hear was your name on your partner's lips.


	13. You Said it Before So Say it Again Now

**A/N:** This has spoilers for CitC, EitB, and vague hints at season 5 from Hart.

_You're begging for more  
But it's not enough  
He's all that you want  
And really believe in  
He gives you a reason  
To take it slow_

_-Not Enough, Boyce Avenue_

It was spring when it happened. You remembered the day. It was beautiful out. You understood why he did it. You really did.

He didn't make up some imaginary line for you; he trusted -no, trusts- you. He doesn't have faith in himself though. That's why he pulled out his stupid imaginary permanent marker, and drew that stupid imaginary line.

It was that beautiful spring day that made the next two years of your life impossibly difficult. It made it hard when you asked him to father your child, it made it hard when he was in a coma, and it made it hard when he was confused as to who you were.

It was almost three years to the day that he'd come up with such an idiotic notion. You were actually sitting on the very bench.

Funny how that happens sometimes. How the perfect things just happen for you, but there is some stupid imaginary line just infront of you, blocking all your shots.

But sitting there, wherer the self-loathing was high, you realized something. That stupid imaginary lienwas just that --imaginary.

It wasn't really there.

There was nothing stopping you except for yourself.

Parker ran over from the carousel and stood in front of you and Booth. You'd promised him ice cream, so you stood and took him over to the stand. You told your partner to stay -- you could bring him back some.

Parker ate his cone in about a minute, and went to play again.

"Booth," you asked, hesitantly.

"Yeah, Bones?"

"I," you started, "Nothing. Forget it, it's nothing."

He looked you over, as if he knew what you wanted to say, knew what you were thinking.

"Sure," was all he said.


	14. Call Me Captain Backfire

**A/N:** I borrowed one of Kathy Reich's titles, sorry. I don't own that either.

_I'm never speaking up again it only hurts me  
I'd rather be a mystery than she desert me  
Oh I'm never speaking up again  
Starting now, starting now..._

_-My Stupid Mouth, John Mayer_

She was incredibly nervous. The last time she had been on a TV show, she'd made a total fool of herself. "Oh, I don't want any children," she had said. Booth had told her that that was the completely incorrect thing to say. Now thought, she was prepared.

She was sitting beside some perky blond lady, who's name she couldn't quite remember. The interview, when it aired, would appear to be about four minutes long, when in reality they picked your clothes and did your hair and make up. The entire process of getting ready for the interview took about two hours. Then she had to sit and answer the idiotic questions that "the Network" came up with.

"Okay, Temperance -"

"It's Dr. Brennan, please," she corrected.

"Sure, hun, no problem. First off, I'll ask you about what the new book is about, then we'll just improvise with what you give me, and what the prompter says, 'kay?"

"That's fine," was all she managed.

The camera man check their microphones, which were hidden under the collar of their shirts, and took his place behind the lense. "Three, Two," he said, then pointed to the young lady with blond hair.

"We're here with author Dr. Temperance Brennan, who's new novel, Bare Bones -which is the third in its series- comes out next Monday. So, Dr. Brennan, what are your thoughts on this new installement?"

Brennan looked at the interviewer with slight confusion. "I obviously like it, or else I wouldn't have written it. It's a bit more emotional than my last two pieces though, if that is what you mean."

"Why do you think that it's more emotional this time around?"

"Well, uhm," this is exactly what she didn't want to be asked. "This time, I guess there's more pressure, because the movie is coming out soon, and I've been told that the average person, who goes to the movies or reads a crime novel, actually gets quite bored with all facts, and no feelings. That's what my partner said anyways. So this time, I tried to put more heart into it, and less brain."

"Does that mean that we might see some real progress in the Kathy/Andy relationship? More than just the bedroom scenes this time around? Do we get to see some 'I love yous'?"

Brennan pulled her sleeve's down around her hands nervously. "There is a lot that happens for Kathy in this book. She has a lot of thinking to do. But don't expect many spoken feelings. It's mostly internal thoughts that show us how she's feeling."

"You mentioned the movie release. Are you excited to see your characters on the big screen?"

Brennan actually knew nothing about the movie. She didn't get to write it, she didn't get to visit the set, she didn't meet the actors -she didn't even know who was acting in the damn film. It was probably a bad movie.

"I'm quite nervous. Since I didn't get to write the script, I'm not sure how it will relate to the book. What if it's completely altered? I just wish the public wasn't so excited about it, because then they won't be as disappointed when it's not an Oscar winner."

"You don't think that your movie will be an award winner?"

"Crime movies never are."

She knew that the interviewer didn't like where this line of thought was going, and she was pleased for the change in subject.

"So the last time we talked to you was just after your first book hit the Top-Seller list."

"That is correct."

"How has your life changed since we last spoke to you?"

"Nothing drastic really. I have the same job, the same apartment, the same friends--mostly." She didn't need to mention Zack; the public didn't need to know.

Brennan didn't want to talk about her actual life. That was far too complicated.

"So, the rumours aren't really true? There's no hunky FBI boyfriend?"

"I, uh," Brenna hesitated. "Do I ask you about your love life?"

"Anyways..."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

A week later, Brennan sat on Booth's couch with him, both with a beer in hand. She was shifting nervously in her seat.

"Bones, calm down. It'll be fine."

"No, it won't. I'm incredibly socially akward."

Booth couldn't deny it. "Bones, it'll be fine," he repeated.

The Celebrity News show started, and Brennan felt her palms get a bit clamy. As the interviewer started to introduce the interview, Booth turned to face his partner.

"Bones?"

"Yeah, Booth?"

"Why don't you let me read your manuscripts?"

"You'll read it anyways. Why can't you wait like everyone else?"

"Because I'm not just anybody, Bones. It's me."

"Just watch Booth."

They were both paying attention as the blond woman started talking about teh books subject. "In this installement, Kathy's bruting FBI partner/love interest suffers from a storke, and falls into a coma. Could all this drama result in them admitting there undying love for each other?"

Booth turned to look his beautiful Bones. "Bones..."

"Yeah, I know, Booth." What she really wanted to say was that, yes, yes she kenw that it didn't result in what the young, beautiful woman on the TV screen was sugesting. She knew because not only did she write it, but she lived it as well.

"Dr. Brennan denied any form of a romantic relationship in this interview. Many fans - who reffer to themselves as Brennanites- speculate that her relationship with her partner Special Agent Seeley Booth is the inspiration for the Kathy and Andy dynamic. Rumours state that Booth was hospitalized for close to a week. Again, Brennan had no comment on the subject. She did however have a lot to say about her book. Let's take a look at what she had to say in this interview with Nancy O'Dell earlier this week..."


	15. When You Know You Love Someone

**A/B:** I have a farely long piece in the works right now, and I will add it ASAP, its just that possible doesn't seem to be happening in the next few days.

_Oh it's not rocket surgery  
When you know you love someone it's easy  
We're a pair; you're smart, I'm romantic  
Kiss like you care, your mouth is mechanical  
Words are air, over my head they blow _

_-Rocket Surgery, Amy Kuney_

Booth was sitting in the small diner all by himself. He had a cup of coffee in front of him, and he was just staring at it, watching the steam rise and disappear.

He would take sip, and place the mug back on the table, and watch it for a few more minutes before repeating the procedure.

The bell above the glass door rang as it opened, and once again as it closed. He heard her walk towards the counter, ask for a cup of coffee, black, and sit across from him.

The young waitress, who couldn't be more than seventeen years old, brought Brennan her cup of coffee and returned to behind the counter.

Booth didn't look up to meet her gaze, and he didn't say anything.

They sat in silence as the minutes passed slowly, as the diner slowly emptied.

"Booth, I-"

"Bones, just stop, okay?" He picked up his coffee mug and drank a sip of the cooling beverage. "I don't want to hear it."

"You're pissed. I get it. That's fine. But you could at least look at me."

He didn't look up. She sighed heavily. "Fine."

It was Booth's turn to sigh. "Bones, I could have... I almost died."

"I know," she told him, now looking at her own cup of coffee.

"You don't need to treat me like I'm any different. You don't need to ask me if I want to sit, you don't need to ask if I want some water. You don't need to remind me to take my pills, okay? I know. I'm finally off my medical leave, and all you ever do is try and check my temperature. I don't need it. I can do it just fine. I can do everything I used to do before, its the same."

He quickly looked up at her, then back down at his mug. "But are you the same, Booth?"

"No," he whispered quietly after a minute. "Change is inevitable, I guess."

She reached across the table and took his hand in her smaller one. "This should be so much easier. "

They sat in the diner, each starring at the steam that was rising from their respective cups, and disappearing into the night, just like their love did, not too long ago.

The bell above the door rang, and Booth looked up at his partner. "Want me to drive you home," he asked quietly.

"No," Brennan replied. "It's fine. I can drive."

Booth threw a bill down onto the table, finished the rest of his coffee, and stood. "Good night, Bones."

"I'm sorry, Booth."

"It should be easier, Bones, but it's not."

"Love should be easy," she said as he walked towards the door, escaping into the night with the last bit of their love.


	16. This is How We Have to Try

**A/N:** My heart goes out to Ryan O'Neal, a man we all love as Max Keenan. He has my greatest and most sincere condollances during this time of loss.

This has mature themes, you've been warned.

---------------------

This case had been a bad one. Especially for her. Middle-aged man found dead behind an itilian restaurant. The ID had been easy, all they had to do was compare him to the driver's liscence that they had found in his wallet.

Turns out, he was a foster parent. Brennan imediately would not sleep or eat or even sit until whoever killed that man was caught. As is so happens, he was killed by his foster daughter. He'd raped her, beaten the other kids in the house, and basically was just an asshole.

After a while, the young girl, Samantha Green, had snapped, and she went into his shed, and shot him twice; once in the stomach, once in the face. Her life had been destroyed, and she was only sixteen.

They had solved it, once again. After making the arrest, Booth drove Brennan back to the lab. Just as he pulled up outside the slidding glass doors, he turned to her. "Bones, you wanna come over tonight, y'know, eat some take out, watch a movie, do some paperwork?"

She turned to him, "Booth, I don't need for you to pity me."

"What're you even talkin' about, Bones? What is pitying about a movie?" She sensed his light-hearted, teasing tone, and quietly agreed as she stepped out of the truck.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Their emptied take-out containers sat on Booth's coffee table, alongside empty bottles of beer. Booth was attemping to read through reports before signing them, but he was failing miserably by constantly looking up to see score of the Yankee/Mariners game.

Brennan had signed all of the reports that required her signature but one. As she erad through it, she stopped dead, and looked over at Booth.

He was yelling something about knowing what a strike zone was, when he turned to her and smiled. His smile quickly faded. "Bones, what's wrong?"

"I," she stuttered. "I can't sign this." Booth cocked an eyebrow, asking silently for an explination. "I can't testify in court against her."

"Bones..." He started. "Bones, I know that-"

"Booth, no offence, but you don't know."

He had known that sexual abuse was a possilibty in her past, he just chose to never think about it, he couldn't.

"It was my third home," she said quietly, as if she didn't want anyone to hear. "They seemed nice at first."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Temperance exited the backseat of the 91 Honda, carrying her duffel back, which was barely holding itself together at that point. Her social worker walked ahead of her, holding the manila folder that grew everytime they saw each other.

After knocking, the social worker stepped back from the door. After a minute, a pudgy woman with brown whispy hair answered the door. "Hello Sweetheart, you must be Temperance." She nodded and clutched her packback closer to her chest. She'd learned in her first home that no one can be trusted. "Well darling, come on in. Travis! Come down here," the woman called.

"My name is Carleen, and this," the woman said, "is Travis. He's seven. Mr. Bradley will be home around six. Dinner is shortly thereafter. Trav will give you the grande tour." Carleen turned to the social worker. "Do you have her paperwork?" She was handed the file, and turned to walk back into the kitchen. "Thanks."

"Okay Temperance," Nancy, her 'soc' said, "hopefully we won't be seeing each too soon. Be good."

Temperance simply nodded as she watch the front door close. "Your room is upstairs, do ya want me t'take your bag for ya," Travis asked.

"That's fine, I can manage, but thank you."

"The bathroom's there, my room is here, and your is there. We're not aloud in Mr. and Mrs. Bradley's room. Later, if ya wanna, you could help me finish my puzzle?"

"I like puzzles," she replied, as she watched a smile spread across the young boy's face. "But, if you don't mind, I'd really like to just go get settled." Travis' face fell. "But I will definitely help you after dinner," she added quickly.

Temperance escaped into her room to unpack her things. Her room had a desk, a twin sized bed, and a dresser with a mirror.

The first week passed uneventfully. It was summer vacation, so she didn't need to go to school. All the other kids at the highschool wouldn't know that she was a foster kid, because she wouldn't have to transfer at some random part of the school year. She helped with chores, played with Travis, and studied at the library.

One night in August, after Mr. Bradley had gone out with his work buddies, she heard him loudly climb the stair case. She rolled over and looked at her alarm clock. Oh God, she thought, it's after three in the morning.

She rolled onto her side, and closed her eyes. After a few minutes, she turned to roll onto her back again, but there was a hand on her shoulders.

"Don't move," he said. Temperance saw that her door had been closed. It was never closed. "Don't fucking move, or I'll kill you." She felt the sharp metal against her neck.

"That's right," Mr. Bradley said, his words slurred. "You tell anyone, I'll kill you and that damn boy."

She couldn't think straight. She couldn't try and run. She couldn't die. _Just seperate from yourself, Temperance_, she told herself. _Just compartmentalize._

She could feel his caloused hands on her body. He felt them move to the drawstring of her pyjamas, pulling the pants down. "You a virgin, girly?"

She felt warm tears run down to her ear, wetting her hair. She couldn't answer.

_Just compartmentalize._

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Brennan and Booth were both starring at the floor. Booth looked over at his partner, and reached to touch her shoulder. At the contact, she flinched.

"Sorry," he said, as he pulled away.

They sat in silence, both starring at the floor until Brennan looked over at him. "Booth, you're shaking," she stated.

"I'm mad," he said, fists clenched.

"Booth, it's okay."

"Bones, it's really not. Not at all. I want to find him, and hurt him. I want to kill him."

"But Booth, I'm okay. Me, right here, I'm alright now. Although talking about it is bothering me more than I'd like, I'm still okay."

Booth ran his hands through his hair, then pinched his nose. "Oh, God, Bones."

"Booth..." she said, trying to comfort him, in the least.

"Before we started working together, they asked if I wanted to see your file, you know, to know something about you. I told them I wouldn't need to know, it wouldn't affect how you worked. I know that that was true, you're amazing at your job. But, I still wish I would have known that... That it had been so terrible."

"Booth, you didn't even know I had been a foster child. Why would you have known to look for something like that?"

"I just wish I could have done something." He nervously played with his hands. "How many...How often did-"

"Thirteen times," she answered, knowing what he was trying to ask.

"Oh, God," Booth said. "Bones, I'm so sorry." He said as he shifted away from her slightly.

Brennan felt him moving away, and hated it. "I'm not afraid, Booth. I know you are a very good man. I know that you won't hurt me."

"Never," he said.

"You don't have to treat me like I'm damaged," she told him, moving closer to him. She intertwined Booth's fingers with her own, and whispered in his ear. "I'm not damaged," she said as she leaned her head on his shoulders.

Booth looked down at their hands, which fit together so percetly. "What happened to him?"

"He ended up killing his wife. Hit on the head with a frying pan. Cliche, right? That's when the social worker came by. Took Travis and me away. When I asked to see a doctor, they wanted to know why, and then I eventually needed to tell them. That was when I actually lost all faith in psycotherapy. After that, I stayed in a group home with a bunch of girls who had also been abused.

"One day we were watching the News, and saw that he was being tried for more than one case of sexual assult of a minor. Seven actually, plus the murder of his wife. He was sentence to life without parol. He's done, Booth, he won't get out."

"He won't get out," Booth repeated, trying to comfort himself more than her.

"My mom killed herself when I was thirteen," Booth said after a few minutes of silence. "After my grandpa took Jared and me to live with him. She hung herself with an extension chord."

"I'm sorry, Booth."

"These," he said, rolling up his sleeves, "these tattoos, my grandfather took me to get them when I was sixteen, about six months after I tried to...After I tried to..."

"Don't," Brennan said sharply. "Don't say it."

"There's a huge scar under this one," he said, pointing to this right wrist. Brennan untagled her fingers and ran her hand over the tattoo.

"I know what this one means," she said after a heavy silence. "It means 'faith'. That's actually quite poetic, if you think about it."

"I don't," he whispered. "I don't have to think about it, Bones. That was a bad time, but it's over. It's done."

"It's done," she echoed as she replaced her hand in his.

They sat like that - just starring at the wall, hands intertwined- for a while. Brennan stood after about a half hour of silence. Booth looked up at her questioningly. "I'n just getting some water, Booth. You want anything?"

"A beer, please?"

"Sure," she said.

She returned from the kitchen with a beer and water bottle in hand. "Hey, Booth," she asked.

"Mhmm?"

"It's kind of late, kind I, uh, sleep on your couch?"

"No problem, Bones."

Brennan enjoyed that he didn't offer to take the couch, knwoing she would not allow it. She took comfort in knowing that he knew her well enough as not to ask if she wanted the bed. It was a small comfort, but it warmed her heart nonetheless.

**A/N:** If you or anyone in your family is a victim of sexual assault, contact Statewide Sexual Assault Help Line**, **(open 24 hours a day) at1800 010 120.


	17. I'm Just Waiting 'Til the Firing Stops

**Author's Note: **This is short, I know. But it was bugging me, and I needed to get it out of my head.

I want to thank everyone who has reviewed this, who has added it to alert lists and favorited it. If you didn't do the things you do, I'd be writing this for no one.

_Just because I'm losing  
Doesn't mean I'm lost  
Doesn't mean I'll stop_

_-Lost, Coldplay  
_

Booth stood starring at his reflection as he brushed his teeth. Once he spat, he looked around his washroom, hating the way she had squeezed herself into his life. The small reminders of what used to be her presence haunted him, like the bottle of mousse beside his hair gel.

He hated it.

He walked back into the bedroom, and lay on the cold sheets. He closed his eyes and prayed for sleep to claim him. If it did, it was only for a few minutes, which was worse than not sleeping at all.

He hated that, too.

He heard the front door open, though he didn't take out his gun. If it wasn't her, maybe he could welcome death. Maybe he could just let the intruder take all his possessions; it's not like he had anything left anyway. Not really.

Everything else he had was arbitrary. It didn't matter...Not really. After his heart had been ripped from him, he had nothing.

Ha hated that, too.

He saw her stand in the doorway, and he watched her cross the threshold. He didn't move though. He couldn't sit up. It was her turn.

He was done chasing after her.

She lay down beside him and the bed creaked.

"I'm sorry that I hurt you--"

"Too late."

She didn't move. "Bones, what do you want?"

"You," she whispered.

"What if that can't happen?"

What if that couldn't happen? What if after all she had done, he couldn't live with it? What if he couldn't look over at her and feel that love, but also feel that pain--that loss. What if they couldn't actually be together, after everything?

"Is that the case here?"

He didn't know. He hated it. He hated everything about it. How she was able to make him want to hug her and shoot her at the same time. It wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair that she was able to do such things to him. He didn't deserve it.

She had him at a loss. A loss of thought. He couldn't think about it anymore.

He couldn't live without her.

"No."

"Good," she said as she curled into him. "I'm sorry that I hurt you."

He couldn't answer her

.

He didn't know how.

And he hated it.


	18. Oh Baby, Why Did I Treat You Like I Did?

**A/N:** I feel like if been MIA for a while, but I don't think it's been too bad...Has it? Anyways, I'm sorry, I've been busy, and I went away for the long weekend. Happy-- belated as it may be-- Canada Day. And to my friends down south, Happy July 4th. I could see fireworks in Seattle from where I was. They were beautiful.

_But you love me and I love you  
Call me on your way back home dear  
'Cause I miss you  
And I just wanna die without you  
Without you honey I ain't nothing new_

_-Call Me On Your Way Back Home, Ryan Adams_

-----------------------------------------------------------

It had been a bad one. The second it had started, Brennan knew it wasn't going to end well. It was an irrational feeling, she knew, but she still could not shake it.

And she had been right, which was maybe even worse than being irrational.

They didn't fight often, not really. They participated in debates, or they 'bickered', but they rarely fought.

Why they fought didn't really matter anymore; it had started off as something so stupid, and had escalated so quickly that Brennan didn't even know that it was happening. One second they were in her office, just talking; then they were arguing, and then --like a flick had been switched-- she couldn't take it anymore.

She snapped.

Booth knew how to get into her head, and it made her crazy. He knew how to win her over, how she was feeling, and how to change it all. When they argued, it was tough for her to ignore it. He knew when to be sarcastic, when to use logic, and when to just be angry. Brennan couldn't take it.

He'd pushed her to a point where she didn't think before she spoke, and she suffered the consequences.

He was standing about a foot from her. The words he said didn't register in her mind, just the tone in which he said them.

"I hate you."

She said it so quickly, with little to no thought that she couldn't even be sure if she'd actually said it. Brennan prayed that she hadn't.

But the second she looked at Booth's face, she knew. She knew she had uttered the words, that he'd heard them, and felt them rip into him.

Brennan saw the anger leave his eyes, she was his face soften in a way she never wanted to see again. She could see his lip tremble as his best friend, his partner, stabbed him right in the heart.

He ran his hand through his hair, and stepped back. "Okay," he whispered as he turned around. He walked towards the glass door, his shoulder's sagging. "Okay," he repeated as he walked out the door, towards his truck.

Brennan backed up and sat in the chair behind her desk and rested her elbows in the hard surface where she worked. She held her head in her hands. "I hate you," she mumbled to herself.

After so long, she realized Booth had driven her to work that morning. She could call a cab, but she ended up dialing an far more familiar number.

"Ange," she asked after her best friend picked up. "Can you maybe pick me up at the lab? We could have that ice cream that you love..."

-----------

Angela had known right away that something had happened. When Brennan finally told her what she had said, Angela put her bowl of green tea flavored ice cream on the table.

"Okay, Bren, I need for you to listen to me. Got it?" Brennan nodded. "I know at first, when you and Booth started working together, I was all "Oh my God, you should totally tap that," but I think that after a while, I was pretty good at leaving the two of you alone. I didn't say much, if I said anything at all.

"But, Bren, I can't just let you get away with that. Booth loves you. Okay? Don't give me the "We're-Just-Partners" bull shit, 'kay? Bren, this is me. I've wanted you and Agent Hot Stuff to get together forever, alright, so don't deny it. I only know about what you'll tell me. I don't know what goes on when you hang out at his place. Or when you go out with Parker. But I do know that he loves the shit out of you, so you need to fix this."

After a minute, she added, "now!"

"Okay," Brennan finally said, repeating Booth's words. "Okay."

"Atta girl, "Angela said as she stood from the couch. She took her bowl intot he kitchen, rinsed it, and placed it in Brennan's dishwasher. "You talk to him, and I want an update ASAP. Got it?"

"Got it," Brennan agreed as she walked her friend to the door.

She closed the door, pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, and slid to the ground.

Booth didn't answer the first time. Brennan couldn't leave a message. She dialed again. After the fourth ring, she was about to hang up, when he answered.

"I realize that I drove you to work today, but I didn't want you to have to endure a horrible car ride with someone you detest."

Brennan sighed, and she drew in a shaky breath. "Booth, please." She felt like she was begging. She quickly wiped the tears from her eyes. "Please don't hang up."

"Fine," he said, "but I don't know what you want from me."

"Booth." This time it was out of desperation. The pain was evident in her voice. She had started crying freely. "Oh God, I'm so sorry, Booth." She said as a sob escaped her.

Booth sighed heavily. "Bones."

"Booth, I don't hate you. Not at all."

"I don't hate you either."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Yeah, me too."

There was a pregnant silence until Brennan hiccuped.

Booth laughed quietly. "Wanna get somethin' to eat?"

"I've got ice cream," Brennan supplied.

"See you soon, Bones."

-------------------------

There was a familiar knock at her door, and Brennan stood the floor to answer it.

As the door opened, she looked at him and saw everything she had seen in her office. Although he didn't sport the expressions now, she could see them replaying in her mind.

She stepped aside to let him into the apartment, and when he turned around to say something, she threw her arms around him. "I wanted to die, Booth. After I realized what I'd done...I've never felt worse in my life."

Booth hugged her tighter.

They would be okay.


	19. Lemons

**A/N:** This is short and disgustingly fluffy. I'm kind of grossed out by it. I need for you to tell me how I did.

"The greatest smell is definitely pavement just after rain," Brennan argued as they stepped out of the car, and walked towards the diner.

"Lemons," Booth said simply. "It's lemons; no matter how. Wether it's lemonade, or lemon cake... Do you think they make lemon pie? That would be excellent!"

"They who, Booth?" she asked. "You and Angela always refer to a "They", and I have no idea as to who that is."

Booth sighed heavily. "Just, them. They, Bones. Everyone other than you and me. They. Them. That's who."

"Not every human being that populates this planet, minus you and me, has the resources to bake a pie, so no, Booth, this mysterious They do not make lemon pies."

Booth held open the door for Brennan. The bell above it rang as it swung closed behind him as he follwed her to their regular table.

They ordered and ate in comfortable silence. After Brennan finished her ceaser salad, she ordered a cup of coffee, and Booth ordered the same plus a slice of the pie of the day.

It was Thursday, that meant strawberry-rhubarb day.

After they finished their beverages, Booth stood and dropped two bills on the table. Brennan stood, and followed him out the door.

"Why don't you let me pay, ever?" she asked as she quickened her step to catch up to her partner.

"'Cause," was all he said as he kept walking.

"Why, Booth?"

He stopped walking and turned to face her. He grabbed her cheeks and crushed his lips to her's. "That's what a guy does for his girl, kay Bones?"

Brennan nodded, "okay."

As Booth drove her back to the lab, Brennan said nothing. She looked out the window.

"Bones, what's up? You're being kind of quiet."

"Nothing," she said as she turned to face him. "I just really like Thursdays."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

"Because," she replied, "you always taste like strawberries."

Booth smiled at her, then looked back at the road.

"Your hair smells like lemons."


	20. Runnin Out of Time, Runnin Out of Breath

**A/N**: I just read actual season five spoilers. Let's say that my twitter updates were definitely getting the crazed fangirl end of that stick. If you haven't read them, and you want to, I'll leave the link at the end of this chapter. I was incredibly excited. This, however, is in no form related to that news.

_It's hard to breathe when  
You're standing on your own  
We'll kill ourselves to find freedom..._

Well everybody's gonna need somebody  
To take our troubles and our worries  
And our problems all away  
-Hey Now, Augustana

* * *

She'd been there for four days straight. She had not left, not once. And now...now she wanted to run.

She sat back as nurses, then doctors filed into the small, private room. Although she couldn't see him, she knew exactly where he was. He hadn't moved for four days.

She sat back as they asked him 'routine' questions. His name and age. Hometown. President, year, location. Job. Brother, son.

Although she couldn't see his face, she could hear his voice. And even though his words were not at all like before, it was all she could hear.

_Who are you? _She wasn't sure she even knew anymore.

She slipped from the room unnoticed. She walked down the grey hospital hallways, going nowhere in particular. Finally, she couldn't place her right foot infront of her left. She couldn't go on. She couldn't take another step. Brennan looked back down the hallway to see the room still crowded. She drew in a deep breath, and let it escape her in a shake. Oh, God. What was she going to do?

* * *

People were entering his room at first with low hopes and beating hearts. First Hodgins, then Angela, Sweets, and Cam. She could hear the laughter as it travelled down the hall. After a few moments, she heard the door open again, and quietly close. She couldn't stand to look anymore. She couldn't bear it.

She could hear a child laughing. _Parker. _

If Parker could be there, surely she could...couldn't she? How selfish was she being? How horrible was she being to her bestfriend? Or more importanly, why was she acting so horribly to her bestfriend?

Why couldn't she just stand up, and walk right into that crowded hospital room?

She could hear them, and remember what it felt like to belong to that family. That family that had stood by her through good times, and bad. The family that had changed her more than she ever thought possible. That crazy, intelligent, profession, disfunctional, loving family that she used to be a part of.

That family that could get along just fine without the one person she couldn't. That had been clear in the two weeks he had been gone; they could all get along just fine without him.

That was why she couldn't be apart of that family anymore. She couldn't even think about living without Booth, yet, there he was, finally awake. There he was, alive, and that family was with him. He was a part of it.

And she wasn't sure she could be.

The odd family in that room was unpredictable in the most organized of ways. She could think that she knew one of them, and then realize she barely knew anything at all. There were times along the way.

Like the time when she first met Angela's father, and then found out about her mother. The time she spent trapped in a car with Jack, and learned about his status in society. The time, not so long ago, that was spend in an office comparing metiphorical scars.

She could feel someone's presense before she actually heard them. They walked up to her quietly, with care.

They knelt infront of her and she finally looked up.

She had expected it to be Angela or Sweets. She smiled slightly as her blue eyes met those of the same color. "Dr. B..."

"I was just--"

Hodgins placed his hand over her's, and she felt, in that instant, like she had once again become a part of that family. "Dr. B, please, just, don't lie to me. I know you weren't going to leave."

"I wasn't," she whispered. "I wasn't going to leave."

"You couldn't," he said with such a sense of understanding that she almost wanted to smile again.

"No."

He stood infront of her for a moment, before he apparently changed his mind and sat beside her in the red, uncomfortable hospital chair. He sighed heavily through his nose, and shook his head. Hodgins closed his eyes, and let his head fall back. They sat in silence as Brennan's head returned to her hands. She exhaled another shaky breath before Jack spoke again. "Everything's gunna be alright," he said as his head rolled to his right, so he could face her.

"How could you possibly know that," she said into her hands.

"Because," he replied as he stood.

"Because," he repeated as he took hold of her hand, and pulled her from the chair. "He's asking for you."

* * *

Here's the link to said season 5 spoilers. I think I might write a chapter about what I think might happen.

al[dot]com/the_bct/55776[dot]htm­l


	21. Baby, You're Never Alone

**A/N: **I've never published anything that I hate before. Never. But I feel as if I need to add this, and I don't know why, because I REALLY hate it. I think it's pretty terrible, and if anyone agrees (which I would appreciate if you told me that you did) I will be neither upset not surprised. I will be grateful that you can be honest about it. So please, I would greatly appreciate if you let me know what you think. If you review for this chapter, and never review again, I think I'll be okay.

_I'll be in every beat of your heart  
When you face the unknown  
Wherever you fly, this isn't goodbye _

_

* * *

_

They stood just before security in Dulles. He wasn't required to go through security; he worked along side Michael every day. The flight didn't leave for another two hours, but still, she insisted that they be there early. He'd argued that since he got automatic clearence, they could arrive twenty minutes before any flight. She still said they had to be there early.

And now that they were there, she didn't know what to say, what to do.

They hadn't talked about it since he told her. She couldn't bring herself to talk about it, when it tore her apart to simply think about it.

Passers-by gave them sympathetic looks, trying to understand or even remembering what it was like to be in that position.

He pulled her towards a small restaurant, and ordered them each a milkshake. Vanilla for her, chocolate for him. She liked it that he knew what flavor was her favourite.

He didn't tell her why he had to go. Just said that he had to, it was his duty.

That was something she understood.

It was about an hour before the flight was scheduled to depart, so Brennan threw down some bills and stood. "Booth, you gotta go."

"Yeah," he said, looking down at the table. "I know."

Together, they walked to security. When the guard saw Booth in his Greens, he called out. "People, let his honourable American pass. He's fighting for our country. Let's give him some respect." The line of travellers moved over to the left, as if in sync.

"I gotta go, Bones," Booth said as he stepped in front of her.

"I know," she replied as she looked up at him, tears forming in her eyes.

"Oh, Bones," Booth said as he hugged her tightly.

"Be careful, Booth."

There was so much that he wanted to tell her. That he wanted her to smile everyday, that she needed to take a weekend off at least once a month. That she needed to eat three meals a day. That he loved her eyes, and the way that she filed her nails. He wanted to tell her how much he would miss her, and how much he loved her, and how he didn't want to go. Not at all.

But he couldn't. That would only make leaving harder, so he settled. "I promise that I'll call."

"I promise that I'll answer," she mumbled into his uniform. "No matter what time it is."

He stepped back and looked at her. "Bye, Bones."

"Bye, Booth," she whispered as he walked by the other travelers. She held her hand up, as if in a wave, until her eyes blurred over and she couldn't tell the difference between her partner and all the other people passing through Dulles International.

* * *

_I'll be in every beat of your heart  
When you face the unknown  
Wherever you fly, this isn't goodbye  
My love will follow you, stay with you  
Baby, you're never alone_

I have to be honest, as much as I wanted  
I'm not gonna promise that the cold winds won't blow  
So when hard times have found you  
And your fears surround you, wrap my love around you  
You're never alone

_-Never Alone, Lady Antebellum_

**A/N:** All my hearts go out to Canadian and American Soldiers who risk their lives everyday to defend their respective countries.

For those who don't know who Saint Michael is, He was an archangel who lead the war in heaven against Satan and his followers. He is the saint of police officers, and soldiers.

I promise that the next chapter won't be so tense. It'll be light hearted and fluffy. I promise.


	22. Make of That What You Will

**A/N:** I'm sorry that the link for the season five spoilers didn't work. It keeps removing it. I'll put it on my profile.

This has Mayhem spoilers.

_There are maybe ten or twelve  
Things I could teach you  
After that, well, I think you're on your own  
Make of that what you will_

_-There are Maybe Ten or Twelve, A.C. Newman _

* * *

He was very, very nervous. This was a big day. He had worked hard for almost two years, he had disappointed publishers by requesting an extention that wasn't at all for him. He had struggled, and grown. And so had they. And now, now was the big day.

He stood outside the giant book store, and took a deep breath. What would they think?

Would they be disappointed? Angry? Booth would be angry. He would never hear the end of it. Brennan, on the other hand might not be so upset. Her publisher was most likely thrilled. The fact that a medical professional had written about the dynamic that she twisted and sold in her novels would no doubt boost sales.

He sighed and opened the glass door. Stepping inside, he smelt coffee and pastries. He walked the maze of shelfs, passed cardboard cut-out's of author's, and of pale, messy haired movie stars. He finally found the psycology section. The cover art of the novel was simple. There was two skeletons, each with an apparently beating heart inside their chest's.

He picked up the book, and turned it over in his hands. This was his. He was able to create his piece of work, and stay true to what he wanted to accomplish. Although he was denied the chance to have Dr. Wyatt write the introduction, the personal pages that imerged from him introducing himself were something he was still proud of.

He'd recieved a call from his publisher the night before. She said that there was a bit of a surprise, but that he would need to figure it out on his own.

Sweets opened up the bound pages and found what he had been told about.

_"While Sweets has no knowledge that I am writing this introduction, I hope that he can understand that this is important for me; that I need to share this with the world before he can share my deepest of secrets._

_Although I have a successful career, and although I worked diligently to achieve what I have, Dr. Sweets posseses skill and understanding that I may never grasp. He has knowledge, and expertise, and compassion that I know that I will never be able to truly understand. While we disagree on many things, the fact that he is good at what he does is not one of them. As a scientist, I have a hard time accepting every conclusion that he comes to, but I understand that he sees something in actions and words that I will never see. _

_There are thing that I could teach you. I could tell you about all two hundred and six bones in the human body. I could tell you what sports people played, long after they are gone, just by looking at their skeleton. I could talk to you about biochemistry and the laws of physics, but I could never tell you about how the human brain functions. Yes, I could inform you of blood flow and oxygene to the brain, but Sweets can tell you why I say 'hello' instead of 'hey'. He can tell you why two apparent opposites --who should hate each other and fight constantly-- are not only the best crime fighting team in America, but also the best of friends. He can teach you that knowing what someone takes in their coffee means a lot more than simple habit. _

_Even though I believe that psycology is a soft science, I must say that Dr. Sweets shares a status with me. He worked hard to recieve his Doctorate, and he worked hard to publish this book. He was respectful of not only my wishes, but for those of my partner. He postponed the release of this work not for himself, but for us. For that, I thank him._

_Although I have yet to read this book, I must encourage you, the reader, to stick with it. Sweets is a talent young man, who fought his own battles, recieved his own wounds, and metiphorically compared scars with those who accept him, gladly, into their family._

_Dr. Lance Sweets works with a group of people who believe only what they see; on what they can disect and analyse. He is constantly under estimated by those around him. He does experiments of a different kind. He does not look at things under microscopes or test pH levels. He simply observes. As an anthropologist, I accept this as a form of study. To immerse one's self into a group as tighly knit as ours, and to be accepted into open arms, is something very difficult to do._

_As a family, Sweets, my partner, our team of scientists, and myself have grown, lost friends, and faced death. We have been together during times of trial and despair, and times of joy. We have stayed at our vigils inside hospital rooms, we have run towards the danger as all others ran away, and we have stood strong. _

_While I can teach you all about a body, Sweets can teach you about the person themselves. When I can tell you about estimated time of death, Sweets can tell you about life. I can teach you about bones, but Sweets, he can teach you about the heart of the matter. He can teach you about love. _

_I hope that I didn't give this young man too much of an ego boost, because I will definitely never hear the end of it if I did. Therapy is a waste of my times as it is, I don't need to listen to more of his ramplings. _

_I am honoured to intoduce this piece to you,  
Dr. Temperance Brennan."_

He back tracked through the maze of shelfs and card board cut-outs, and reached the counter. He payed, and left the book store. When he reached his car, he placed the plastic bag on the passenger seat, and pulled out his phone. He scrolled until he found Reception in his contact list.

"Yeah, hey Susan. Cancel all my appointments for today. No, everything's fine. I just need to help out on a case at the Jeff. Yeah, tell all the patients I'm totally sorry, and that I'll see them next week." He paused, as the corners of his lips turned up. "Yeah, the book comes out today."

* * *

**A/N:** I know I said that this would be funny/fluffy or whatever, but this wouldn't leave my mind. I think I might start another story with the season 5 spoilers. When I started this I said I would get a real story going once we heard some real news...and here we are.

I hope you enjoyed this...I also hope you share that fact with me ;)

I'm seeing Harry Potter in eleven hours. lol, thought you'd like to know.


	23. I'm Starting to Feel

**A/N:** I'm seriously running out of ideas on my own. I'm working on a multi chap for the season 5 spoilers, so I don't want to really touch on those here. Except, a few months back there was rumor of a Jared/Booth/Brennan love triangle, so this is what I'm going to do right now, but after that, NO MORE S5 SPOILERS!

A couple of people wanted a follow up on the last chapter, but I'm not really getting of those vibes right now. Maybe later, though, because I really liked that one too. Lol, today I read a HH tweet, and it said that Cindy Lauper told Hart that the Bones cast is tall. Hart is quite short. He was jealous.

Also, if anyone wants to know, I just got the worst haircut of my life.

_I have to face the truth,  
That no one could look at me like you do,  
Like I'm something worth hanging on to  
There's times I think of leaving  
But it's something I'll never do  
'Cause you can do better than me,  
But I can't do better than you  
-You Can Do Better Than Me, Death Cab for Cutie_

* * *

"I can't make our session next week, Sweets."

"Booth," Brennan sighed. "You always say that. What's going to happen when you actually can't attend. No one's going to believe you."

"That's the thing, Bones," he said. "I actually can't make it."

"And why, Agent Booth, is that?"

"Well Sweets, since you need to be sixteen to have a driver's lisence, and you can't drive, I have to go pick Jared up from the airport."

"I thought that he had his motorcyle," Brennan said.

"Ha! Yeah, right. I don't know what happened, but he asked me to be there."

"How do you feel about Jared returning frmo India, Agent Booth?"

Booth would win the gold metal for eyerolls if there was such a competition. "Look, Bones, Sweets is trying to work, and... our session ends...Now! See ya whenever you have the pleasure." Booth stood, waited for Brennan to stand as well, and walked her out.

"There are things we need to--" Sweets was cut off as the door closed behind the pair. He could never get a word in edge wise.

* * *

The partners drove in a comfortable silence back to the lab. Brennan kept stealing glances at Booth, trying to figure out what he was thinking. She turned to look out the window, and realized they were just a block from the diner. "Hey, Booth! Can we stop and get some lunch at the Diner?"

Booth turned to his partner, an eyebrow shooting for the moon. "Are you, Dr. Temperance Brennan, admitting to being hungry," he asked, his famous charm smile in place.

Brennan sighed, rolled her eyes, and pretended to be annoyed. "No, Booth," she said as she attempt to shoot, what was it? Dagers? Yeah, dagers in his direction. "I just could tell that you were hungry. I thought since we were near the Diner, you'd like to go in. If I was mistaken, I apologize. We don't need to go. I," she said, knowing she was egging him on, "don't need to eat."

Booth scoffed. "Yeah, okay, Bones. And I don't need file paper work."

"Are you being sarcastic? Because I do a fare amount of paperwork, and I'm certain I could file a complaint, and not have to do it anymore--if you're serious, that is."

"Yes, Bones." He should recieve another eye-rolling championship award. "Of course I'm being sarcastic."

"Oh," she said quietly, a bit of color spreading up her cheeks. "So, lunch, yes? No?"

"Most definitely," Booth answered with smile as he turned down the street to find a parking space.

* * *

"Bones, you gunna be okay for about an hour? I gotta go get Jared," Booth called as he scanned his card to gain access to the platform.

"Damn it! What time is it? I've got to see Sweets at 2 o'clock."

Booth cocked his head to the side. "You're haveing couples therapy without me? Isn't that, like, counter-productive?"

Brennan nodded. "That's what I told Sweets, but he said he still wanted to see me. I don't know what we're going to talk about, but he said I still had an appointment, and I was required to show up. If not, he said he'll right up a report stating that the FBI should consider seperating us."

"That seems harsh, doesn't it?"

"I guess he really wants to talk to me. Maybe it's about what I said about his book."

"Yeah, maybe." Booth said, seemingly deep in thought. "How about dinner? At the Diner," he asked, a huge grin plastered to his face.

"Sure, see you there, about five-thirty?"

"See ya there," Booth said as he cleared the bottom two stairs leading to the platform.

Angela stepped up, swiping her card, and tugging it back into her pocket. "What's he so happy for?"

"He's going to pick Jared up from the airport," Brennan replied as she turned over the victim's left tibia.

"He seems a bit happy to be doing that..."

"Have you seen Hodgins? I need him to scrape this for particulates."

"He's visiting Zach, said he'd be back by quarter after one, so, uhm, he should be here now."

"Alright, thanks Ange."

"Not a problem. Can I take this sucker," she asked, pointing to the skull with markers around the cheeks and chin.

"Go ahead. I need it back when you're done though."

"Of course, Bren."

* * *

Brennan sat in the sterile waiting room, reading the newest issue of Cosmopolitan. She thought that maybe it was a bit inappropriate for a waiting room. Then she realized that there was no reason for children to attend therapy at the FBI. The intercom on the desk was loud enough for Brennan to hear. So when Sweets asked Susan if she "could please let Dr. Brennan know that he was ready for her", she was already walking towards his office, nodding at the young receptionist as she passed. She opened the door, crossed the threshold, and sat on the couch.

"Dr. Brennan, how're you today?"

"I'm doing well, and yourself?"

"Fine, thanks for asking."

This was going to be akward, Brennan could already tell. The room felt incredibly empty, and seemed much larger. She never realized how grey everything was.

"So, uh, Sweets, why am I here? It is partner's therapy, and as you and I can very clearly see, Booth isn't here."

"Oh, I, well I wanted to talk to you about the entire insident last month. We never talked about it. And I though it would be better if it was just you. Then I can talk to Booth later on."

"I don't want to talk about it," she said, clipped.

* * *

Brennan sat in the Diner, alone. She looked at her watch; five-forty-eight.

He was late.

And she was mad.

Bad combo.

Just as she scoffed to herself, Booth slid into the chair across from her. "What's cookin', good lookin'?" She looked up at him, and glared. "Woah, sorry, Bones. You okay?"

"Fine."

"Well, you are obviously lying. What did Sweets do?"

He didn't need to know; if she told him, he would find out about thigs she rather he didn't know. "Nothing, Booth. It's alright."

"Sorry."

"What for," she asked, genuinly confused.

"Well, you clearly aren't in a fantastic mood, and uh, I don't think it's gunna get better."

"Why is that?" Just as she asked, Jared sat down in the chair beside his older brother.

"Sorry," the older Booth repeated.

"Hey, Tempe, how's it goin'?"

She glared at Jared, "been better."

"That's too bad," he said. "May I buy you a drink?"

Brennan looked at her partner, sighed, and looked over at the younger, 'lite' version. "I already have one, actually."

"Well how about another time, then?"

Brenna could tell he was trying to ask her out. Or atleast hinting that he wanted to take her out. She hated it. She hated him. Even though he saved Booth's life, she still wanted to punch him multiple times in the jaw. She looked back over at Booth, and their eyes met. It wasn't romantic, or lustful, like many of the other occurences like this, but it was comforting. Apologetic. He really was sorry that Jared had crashed their dinner. He really had wanted it to be just them. She understood that. But there was something else. The anthropologist in her picked up on the Alpha Male related tension in the air, and realized that Booth was upset by his brother's actions. He was actually angry that Jared was hitting on her. He broke their eye contact, stared at his younger brother, then called the young waitress over. All he ordered was a cup of coffee. Brennan was surprised; this was supposed to be a meal. Maybe he planned on leaving soon. She hoped that if he did, he took Jared with him.

"No, Jared. No thank you."

Brennan stood, and placed a ten dollar bill down to cover her coffee. "Sorry, Booth, but I really need to leave. Maybe we can eat later. I've got some papers I need you to sign for Goodman, he needs them tomorrow for some stupid meeting."

"Yeah, sure thing, Bones. I'll come by around eight, eight-thirty."

"Goodbye, Jared."

"See you 'round, Tempe."

She doubted that one.

* * *

The partners sat on Brennan's couch, each with a beer in hand. "You," Booth said, "are a much better lier than you used to be."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, so you do really have paper work for me to sign, that I, for some mysterious reason, didn't know about until earlier today?"

"Well, I... Okay, fine. I lied. So what? Your brother lies a lot."

"He really likes you, y'know."

"I don't like him," she hesitated. "I don't like him at all, actually."

"Yeah, I know Bones."

"You are much better than him, Booth."

"How so," he asked, incredibly curious as to what she was going to say.

"You remind me of what I'm good at; you let me be good at it. You care. Jared, does not. I don't know anyone whom I like more than you." Because you make me feel special, she wanted to say. But she kept her mouth shut.

"You're pretty cool yourself, Bones."


	24. You Were Like A Walking Compliment

**A/N:**I was at their concert the night before last, and they were absolutely incredible. Thus, I couldn't help but have another Death Cab inspired chapter. They played this song last night, and I basically went insane, I was so inspired. I think that if you haven't listened to them before, you definitely should. They're my favorite band, maybe of all time, if that counts for anything. This song is about Las Vegas. Look it up. Anyways, I'll shut up and get on with it.

_You said that you were lonely  
And then we kissed like lonely people do  
You said the city has a beating heart  
That pushes people down the boulevard  
And they're all hoping for a wish fulfilled  
In a desert for a dollar bill  
Those foolish dreams, you know they plague me still_

-Little Bribes, Death Cab for Cutie

* * *

It had been a big mistake. Huge. You were acting like a world class dip shit. Why you felt the need to follow along, you didn't know. Bones had warned you, too, which only made it worse. "There's an attached casino," she'd said. You had told her not to be ridiculous, you would be fine, it was just a night club...and if everyone else was going, why shouldn't you? You were a part of the team, were you not? Plus, you were reformed. "Fine," she relented. "But be careful." And now, well... now, you were in trouble.

* * *

Hodgins had sent a mass email to everyone you worked with. It was Angela's birthday on the weekend, but she had plans with her father, so he thought that the team should celebrate on the Friday, instead of Sunday, the day she actually turned the big three-one. Cough, he meant, uh, cough, two-eight. You had outright laughed at that. Hodgins knew, even from the beginning, that Angela would find out he had planned it, and eventually find the email.

It was already all planned, and payed for. Hodgins wouldn't take no for an answer, apparently. Angela had been blind folded, and you all piled into a massive limo, that drove the birthday girl, Hodgins, Brennan, Sweets, Cam and yourself to one of the hottest clubs in town. It was hard to get into as it is, but Hodgins had gotten you guys into the VIP section.

Cam and Sweets were getting into a debate about some Freud ism, Angela and Hodgins were dancing, both a bit more comfortable with each other after practically inhaling a few drinks each.

You and Bones were sitting on the far side of your guys table, talking about nothing in particular: Parker, what she was going to do on the weekend, that what she was doing was totally boring, and that she should love a little, what you were doing this weekend, and how that seemed far less interesting than what she would be doing. What she had eaten today, and that since she'd had nothing but a gronola bar, you were now ordering her food, no matter what she said.

You waved over a waiter, order you both another beer, and a large half pepperoni/half vegetarian pizza, certain that everyone would have a piece or two. She scowled, but then thanked you. You smiled, "not a problem, Bones."She smiled back.

The pizza was gone within the hour, and you and Bones had gone through another two beers each. Angela and Hodgins returned to the table, slid into the booth beside you. Angela then smiled and Brennan. "Sweetie," she said, her words slightly slurred, "we should do tequila shots."

Your beautiful Bones groaned. "Please not tequila Ange. Anything but tequila," she said, obviously remembering a night with her friend. Or maybe just remembering the morning. It was probably the latter.

Angela frowned, "But it's my birthday!"

"No it's not!" Bones exclaimed. "Your birthday isn't until Sunday!"

"It's my makeshift birthday then," Angela said, still frowning. Brennan shook her head no. "Fine, how about Jell-o shooters?!"

Bones rolled her eyes, and looked to you. "Fantastic," you said, leaning into your partner's ear. "It's okay, y'know, Bones. We have a professional driver this evening. "

"You," Bones said as the young waiter from before brought over a tray full of multicoloured Jell-o filled shot classes, "are not a professional driver."

"Ah, Bones, you're on your way t'having way too much to drink. You forget already? We've got a limo."

"Shut up," she said, grabbing a shot for you, and one for herself. "What flavour do you want next, partner?"

A smile that was probably a bit too big covered your face, and you rested your head on the back of the cushioned bench. You could smell her shampoo; it was almost more intoxicating than the awful drink you were already getting into. "Uh, I'll just have whatever you're havin'."

* * *

A tray and a half later, Sweets was babbling about something to do with Daisy, Cam was not even pretending to be interested anymore. Angela kept whispering things into Jack's ear, and he kept laughing. And Bones, oh boy, Bones, she had had just a few too many of Angela's birthday drinks.

"Booth," she said, pointing her finger into your arm. "I think you are my best friend."

"What about Angela?"

She shook her head. "No, Angela is, like, uh, my best girl friend. We have girly talks and she makes me watch terrible movies and eat ice cream." She shook her head again. But you, Sir, you're my best overall friend. I tell you more than I tell Angela. I think it's different, though."

You cocked an eyebrow, and let your arm hang around the back of the bench. "How so?"

"I don't think of you like I thought of Angela when she was my best friend. I don't think that it would be the same if you were a woman. There's a difference, but I don't know what it is yet."

"Let me know when'ya find out, 'kay, Bones?"

"Sure thing," she said. "Who's your best friends? I don't really know any of them. You know all my friends." She frowned.

"You, Bones. You're my best friend. You're probably the best friend I've ever had."

She leaned her head on your shoulder. "Me too," she said. She laughed quietly, and pointed over at Cam. "She looks quite unhappy, doesn't she?"

"I'd be unhappy too if I had to listen to Sweets talk and talk non-stop. But I've got you to put up with, so I think it's pretty fair." You smiled at her so she would know that you were joking. "I'll be right back, gotta drain the lizard."

"That was unnecessary information, Booth."

"You liked it," you said with a grin as you stood and steadied yourself. You hadn't realized how much the alcohol from those shooters had effected you.

Later on, you would wish it hadn't effected you so much.

As you wiped your hands on your pants to dry them, out of the corner of your eye, you saw a flashing light. Multiple flashing lights of all colors as they blinked to the awkward beeping of the machine. You could see the happy night club/casino go-ers, and you felt an intense wave of envy. You wanted to be like them, like that--so happy, feeling that rush... just one more time. You looked around.

No one was watching. You could get away with it. That maybe scared you the most. After seven years, it would be _that_ easy. It could be _so_easy. You looked around again. No one. But then you thought of Bones, sitting at that table. You thought of Parker, who was so excited to be seeing you tomorrow. You thought of the night that Parker got sick, pneumonia, when he was just a few months old, of how you hadn't been there, cause you had been far too busy, with those stupid, stupid games. And you thought of how when you finally got to the hospital Rebecca had said ti so calmly, "this has to stop." You remembered how she hadn't meant just the gambling.

You thought of Bones one last time as you returned to the table. When you sat down beside her again, you must have seemed distracted because she asked you right away, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing, Bones."

"Oh," she said, looking towards the restrooms. "You saw the slots."

"It's nothing, Bones. Just drop it."

"Oh, Booth, you didn't, did you?"

"No. I didn't."

She smiled and leaned her head on your shoulder. "Good," she said quietly. "I really wanna go home. It suddenly seems far too loud in here."

"That's because your drunk, Bones. You should know that alcohol swells the brain."

"Being places that are loud make me feel alone," she said in such a vulnerable tone that all you could do was lean and kiss the top of her head.

"You'll never be alone," you assured her. "That's foolish, Bones." You smiled. "I'll always be right here."


	25. Love is Watching Someone Die

**A/N:** I feel like all this Death Cab is getting redundant, although I'm not even sure than many people read theses author's notes, or the musical intorductions. The lyrics that I put here -I think- make a difference; I think they give perspective, and also, the usually are what inspired the chapter. I can't help it if a lot of it is by the same, albeit an absolutely incridible, band.

This is and CitC/EitB piece, Brennan's thoughts, basically. It's small, too, but I will have more! I promise!

_Amongst the vending machines and year-old magazines  
In a place where we only say goodbye  
It stung like a violent wind that our memories depend  
On a faulty camera in our minds  
But I knew that you were a truth  
I would rather lose than to have never lain beside at all  
__-What Sarah Said, Death Cab for Cutie_

* * *

She hates hospitals. Absofuckinglutely despises them. She's never had a good experience in a hospital.

When she was eight, her and Russ were in their tree house, and she accidently pushed him. He fell and broke his wrist and collar bone.

When she was sixteen, she was admitted for malnutrition, a broken leg, a broken wrist, other visible signs of abuse, and another form that no one but her could see, even when she closed her eyes.

The next time she was in a hospital, it was because her foster brother had cut himself mowing the law. That's when she knew she didn't want to be a medical doctor. Then, later that month, she was in a psyciatric ward. She was suffering not only severe claustrophobia, but she was afraid of the dark, and water. The doctor she had to talk to told her that such fears were irrational; that logically, none of those things would happen again. That was when she decided to always act and think rationally; that she would dismiss all other thoughts and feelings as insanity.

Then, Booth got blown up. It was her fault, although he denied it.

She learned that he'd been tortured.

She had been trapped in car. She didn't sleep for over a month.

Cam was poisoned. The line was made.

The stupid, stupid line that was making this experience so much harder. She almost hates him for that line, but then she remembers other times she's been here.

Booth was taken, kept on a boat, drugged, and almost blown up. She fought with him, he said he had places to be, so he couldn't sit in a hospital bed. She regrets not fighting harder, longer. Maybe it could have been better. Maybe she wouldn't be here now. In this fucking hospital. All alone.

She would be alone, if he didn't wake up.

Hospitals leave hundreds of people alone everyday. They take away loved ones, with nothing to help the sting of loss but old magazines, and shitty coffee.

She would be better off, she thinks to herself, if there had never been that line. If she had just told him. If she hadn't let the chances go by.

Truth is, she knows she is useless to him now. She can't help him anymore. She should pray, but she doesn't even know where to start.

She hates hospitals because she has never had a good experience in one.

Because all she can do is wait, wait for something to maybe go her way.

She hates hospitals because she's never had a good experience in one.


	26. I'm Stuck Here, Getting Misty Over You

**A/N:** WOW. I need to rant a bit. I apologize. I uploaded a new chapter for this, and as I was editting it, I realized it wasn't really what I wanted. So I started re-writting it on the site. Whatevr no biggie. Except for the fact that I wrote for 5 hours. And it was probably the greaest I'd ever written. Longest one-shot, by far. At least 6,000 words. It was so amazing. I loved it. I've never, not once in my life, been so proud of myself. So, I spell chekced it and everything. then I went to save it, and it said I wasn't logged in. Yeah, guess what? This stupid site deleted all of it, cause it wouldn't let me save. I want to kill someone. I'm actually considering how I would do it. No fucking joke. I think I'm going to cry for a few hours.

I'm never going to be able to write that again. Not ever. I basically hate my life. This is officially my most angry day ever. So, this NEW, STUPID, MOST-LIKELY CRAPPY chapter is inspired by this horrible, upsetting event. Just so you're warned.

_My eyes are so bleary  
I guess I'm young but I feel so weary  
I've tried to express it  
But I think it's a bore  
It's at the very heart of me  
A very part of me  
Speak slowly, I can't hear you  
My mind keeps spinning_

_-Black Hole, She and Him_

* * *

She'd been completely uninspired since she'd been sitting in the hopspital. She knew that what she had written there had been excellent. That if it had been anyone else, the publishers would have loved it. But it wasn't what her fans wanted. It was what she wanted. That's why she'd deleted it. It was too... dramatic? No, that wasn't it. It was too hopeful. Pathetic almost.

She hated herself for it.

She'd spent the last week and a half in her apartment, only leaving to run. And once to buy groceries. She'd even googled tips on how to get rid of writer's block. The list she'd compiled made little sense: Read excellent literature, read garbage. Plan it out, be spontanious. Take a trip, don't leave your home. Listen to music, keep it quiet. It went on and on.

Things between her and Booth had been wierd lately. Not wrong or awkward... just not right.

She'd called Angela, asked her for help. She was distracting and fun, but it wasn't helping her get anything done. She even payed Zach a visit. That only made her miss her assistant even more. So, as a final resort, she called Booth. Sure, he'd love to help. He had taken a few English Literature classes in college.

When he knocked on her door, she opened it and returned to the counter, where she had spent the last hour starring at the blank word document. She was about ready to cry. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do!" She let her head fall, and it rested on the counter. "It feels like my head is foggy, as if it's in there, but that I just... I can't see it."

"I'm glad to help in any way that I can, Bones."

"I have no words in here," she noted as she tapped her head with her palm. "It's incredibly frustrating."

"I can only imagine."

Brennan sighed, and looked her partner in the eye. "What am I going to do?" Booth smiled at her.

"Have you tried forgetting about it for a while? We could go out, get a bite to eat, go watch a baseball game? Maybe it'll help clear out that brain fog you've got."

"The list did say to be spontanious."

"What list? Bones! You can't plan to be spontanious! That's very, very counter productive."

She scowled. "I wasn't planning it. I was taking notes."

"Same shit, different pile," he said with a smile.

"I don't know what that means."

"Of course you don't."


	27. Who's Sam Hill?

Booth rolled over, his foot reaching an unused corner of the sheets. He sighed deeply before raising his head and opening one dark eye. He shook his head in disbelief.

"Bones, what in the Sam Hill are you doin'?"

Brennan looked over at him, spralled out on her bed. She continued to pace. "Who's Sam Hill?"

Good God, he thought. She was insane. "Bones, it's three in the morning. Come back to bed."

She looked at him and grimaced, her eyebrows notting together. "I... can't."

She sighed heavily. "Promise you won't moke me?"

He shook his head. "I can't promise, but I can try."

She crossed her arms. "Ugh." She adsent mindedly kept pacing, slowly making her way closer and closer to him. She stepped too close, and in an instant he was up, like a lightning bolt, and his hand was around her wrist.

"Well, I'm up now, so you're going to have to tell me why." Orbital roll on her part. "Bones, it's three in the morning. I need my beauty sleep. So, what is wrong?"

"I just," she hesitated, "I have this terrible feeling that something is wrong. Maybe I forgot something at work. Or someone is injured. I don't know."

Booth nodded, understanding the sensation in gut. "Like you forgot about an appointment you never knew you had."

"Yeah, but... more." Booth cocked an eyebrow in confusion. "Oh, never mind. It's ridiculous and irrational."

He pulled her back to the bed, tangling his legs through her own under the sheets. He rested his head on her pillow, in the crook of her neck. "It's normal, is what it is. I'm sure it's nothing. You don't believe in gut feelings."

"Right," she said, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself than anything.

He kissed her neck softly. "Go back to bed, 'kay, babe?"

"Okay." He kissed her again.

* * *

**A/N:** I know this one's short, just like the last one. I apologize. I'm frustrated with my own stupidity, and I think I've got a bit of writer's block...which has never happened to me before. I'm trying to just write whatever I can. It's just not working. I think that now is the time that I REALLY need suggestions from you guys. Anything at all, really, would help. It could be anything-- I just need ideas right now. When the new season starts, I'm sure Hart will be able to keep me busy. Maybe if I had Booth in my bed, I'd be more inspired.

But for now, I'm going to rely on you. I think that Bones fans have got to be the greatest people out there, so now I'm calling on you. Anyhting at all. I need your help. I appreciate everything. If you don't have an account, it's okay, I opened anonymous reviews. You can e-mail me too, if you wish. dakotaa_25(AT)hotmail(dot)com . I love you all, I hope you know.


	28. The Best Part of Me Was Always You

**A/N:** I really wish I could find each and everyone of you to apologize in person, because I feel terrible for how long it has taken me to update. I have an excuse that buys we about five days. I went camping with a group of friends, and we promised to leave all technology at home. I, of course, thought that iPods should not count, which actually turned out quite terribly in my favour. iPod in lake = iPod that doesn't work. Anyways, I didn't have computer access. Then, I found that while I had taken a vacation, so did my muse. I, however, returned much earlier than it. But that doesn't matter, 'cause now it's back, and that problem is solved! **Season 5 spoilers,** sorry.

Also, X Files fans, there's a little something in here that you might like, if you squint to find it.

Again, I'm sorry for the delay.

_What am I suppose to do when the best part of me was always you  
What am I suppose to say when I'm all choked up and your ok  
I'm falling to pieces, I'm falling to pieces  
They say bad things happen for a reason  
But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding_

-_BreakEven, The Script_

* * *

She still worries. She always worried. Now it's just...magnified. Multipied. 100 fold. His well being feels much more important than it ever had before.

She understood that, yes, they worked in a high-risk enviroment. They fought to put terrible, selfish people away. Those people would probably take either of them out if they had the chance. She knew that the odds that neither of them geting hurt were astronomical. She did know that. She understood that, even.

But it's not the shoot-outs or criminals she fears the most now. No. Not anymore. She has little time to worry about others turning against him when he is turning against himself. His own body taking him a little step farther away from her.

There were scans once every three months for the first year. Then once a year for three years. Then one every two years for the rest of his life. Scans to make sure that his mind wasn't tricking him again. Scans to make sure he would still be there to fight with her, to fight _for_ her. Scans to make sure that he wouldn't leave. Scans to keep his promise.

He was required to take almost two months off. Seven weeks, to be precise. She had stayed for three. Then, it had gotten to difficult; then, she ran.

She went to a dig in Guatemala--she went to a place where she could hide. She spend her days in the overwhelming heat, identifying the remains of an entire village. She didn't run away... completely. She still called him, asked how he was doing. He was always bored. Well, he was always bored on the days that he remembered why he was sitting at home.

Once, she got a call from him. Which was odd in itself, seeing as she told him she would always call him; she was busy and distractions obviously weren't helpful. She thought about the time difference, only two hours. It was nearly eleven at home. He should be sleeping. She shouldn't be working at nine at night.

"Hey," she said, pulling herself up to sit on the edge of a hole that she was exgavating. "What's up?" She pulls her legs over and stands.

"Whatcha doin'?"

"I asked you first," she said with a smile.

She would claim to hear the smile in his voice, if that were at all possible. "I'm just in bed, wondering what you're up to."

"Working," she said, knowing he was disapproving of the hour.

He groaned, just like she knew he would. "Oh, God, why?"

Orbital roll on her side of the phone. She scoffed. "Why? Really?"The 'E' drags out. Although now she had stopped working now, clocked out, and was walking towards her tent. She sat on her sleeping bag as she removed her shoes. When he didn't answer, she continued. "I'm not working anymore, though."

"Oh, really now? And what, may I ask, are you doing now?"

"Getting ready for bed," she stated plainly.

"Uh... no your not."

She furrowed her brow. "Yes," she said warrily. "I think I would know, if anything."

"Well, unless you're getting ready for bed out in the living room, I would know too."

Oh, no. Damn it. She should have known right away. She sighed. "Booth?" She asked it clinically, so that maybe he would remember immediatly. So that maybe she wouldn't have to remind him again. It didn't work. "I'm in Guatemala, remember?"

She heard him exhale slowly. His breath shaky. "Right. Yeah, sorry."

"It's alright," she tried to reassure him. She thought that she sounded more like she was trying to convince herself.

An awkward silence fell over them. Finally, he spoke words she already knew were coming. "I made you uncomfortable, again."

"No," she says it automatically now. That's how many times this has happened. "No, Booth. You didn't."

"I should go," he conceded.

And she knows that she has to let him. She has made the wrong desicion of staying on the line. It's always worse when it doesn't happen in public, though. When he accidently introduces her as his wife, she can sut him off; save him the embarassement . But when it's just the two of them, and he gets confused, it really freaks him out. He gets a look, and she doesn't know why, but it hurts her to see it.

"Alright. I'll talk to you tomorrow, Booth. Good night."

He sighed as she lay bag, her head resting on her pillow. She closes her eyes. "Night, Bones." The last thing she hears before she goes to bed that night is his voice. Although it is a little reassurance, it helps nonetheless.

* * *

The last step before they can return into the field is therapy. Booth passed all his physicals, blood tests, and whatever else the FBI had made him do. Now, they had to meet with Sweets, and they had to talk. Brennan had onyl been back for three days. She found that although she had missed Sweets while she was away, she hadn't missed him enough to actually want to attend therapy.

So, the two sat on the couch across from the young therapist, waiting for him to speak.

Finally, he spoke. "How was your trip, Dr. Brennan?"

"It was fine. It's very warm there this time of year."

"So I've heard," he answered. He looked over at Booth, then back at Brennan. He took a deep breath and began. "I'm going to cut to the chase. There isn't much more that Cullen wants me to approve, so, I'm just going to get it over with. You must both cooperate, or else I will not clear Booth fit for duty. Understood?"

"Whatever I have to do to be able to work again," is Booth's answer. Sweets turns to Brennan, whom is just starring at the young psycologist.

"Dr. Brennan? Your word?"

Eye roll. "Sure. Fine. Whatever."

Sweets just ignores her attitude. "Great. Okay. My first question is, are there things that either of you think might have happened over the past two months, that will change your working relationship?"

They're silent for a minute or two, then Booth speaks. "Well, obviously, I had brain surgery. I'm probably going to be a little rusty."

"Why would you say that, Agent Booth? You passed every test that Cullen made you take. With flying colors, I might add."

"I- it's just... I don't know, sometimes, I just, I forget little things. Like, last week, I couldn't remember how to plumb my own kitchen sink. That's something I've done probably fifty times before. And now, I just suddenly don't know how."

"I still don't know how to plumb my kitchen sink," Brennan says.

"Booth, it is actually perfectly normal for you to feel a bit out of sorts by such things. It's alright." Booth throws the therapist a raised eyebrow. He turns to Brennan. "What about you, Dr. Bren--"

"I think that when we're out of work -when it's just us- we have a tendency to talk more. Share more. I think that for the three weeks before I left -seeing as we spent every day together up until then- that I leanred a lot more about Booth than I would know otherwise."

Booth is thankful that she doesn't bring up the fact that sometimes he wakes up and thinks that she is his wife. That he sometimes places his hand just a bit too low on her back.

"There are things," she continued, and he panics a bit, "that we have talked about that have been hard to discuss, but I think it only makes our freindship stronger." Booth exhaled a breath that he didn't know he was holding in.

"What kind of things," Sweets asked, and Booth can tell that his plames started to sweat. Suddenly, Booth realized, this feels all too familiar. It feels like a time, not too long ago, when the three of them compared metiphorical scars.

Booth decided right then that he couldn't let Bones tell Sweets; that if the kid was going to know, it would come from him. He wouldn't pick at it that way. "When, uh, when I was in the coma, I guess, I had this dream. I dreamt that Bones was my wife. Sometimes, though, I get... Bones, what do you call it?"

"Confused," she provided, turning away from Booth slightly.

"Yeah. Confused. I forget, sometimes, you know? I think what I dreamt is what really _is_. I forget that we are actually a crime fighting team, that we have this life. I, just, sometimes... I get confused."

Sweets is quiet for a moment. Once he processed this, he turns back to Booth. "How did you realize this was happening?"

Booth scoffed. "How do you think I knew I was doing it? She told me."

"It doesn't happen as often as it did in the beginning," Brennan was quick to defend her partner. "Most of the time, now, he catches himself before he actually says anything."

Sweets nodded slightly. "How does that make you feel, Dr. Brennan?"

"It doesn't make me feel uncomfortable. Nothing like that."

Sweets can't help the small smile that has spread across his face. "I didn't ask what it _didn't_ make you feel; I asked what it _does_ make you feel."

"I- uh, it makes me feel... worried. It makes me scared."

Booth turns to her, and moves closer. "Bones. I... You... You don't need to worry. I'm capable."

She swipes at her eyes quickly. "I know, I just, I still get scared. I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"You don't need to do anything, Bones. You don't."

"Just because I don't _need_ to do something, doesn't mean I won't. Just because I don't _need_ to worry does _not_ mean that it isn't justified." She could tell that she was getting defensive. Rude, almost. But, she couldn't stop. He needed to know. "Booth, you almost dying is become an annual event. I know that have a high risk occupation. I don't care. You worry about me, so why can't I worry about you?" She takes a deep breath, and almost whispers. "What am I going to do when you _don't_ come back?"

She swipes at her eyes again, and Booth moves closer to her again. Sweets could tell that he needed to let this happen just between them. Booth looks over at him, and he nods.

"C'mon, Bones. Let's go."

"I'd like to go back to the lab."

Booth knew what was happening. He knew that she was distancing herself. Escaping. Running. And yet, he couldn't stop himself.

"Sure thing."


	29. We're All Laughing With God

**A/N:** I don't want to sound terrible, (and if I am being so, please, feel free to tell me all about it) but I was a little hurt by the lack of reviews on the last chapter. I had my first real case of writer's block, and when I finally managed to get anything done, no one said anything. That leads me to believe that even though I was able to write something, it wasn't so sharp. Should I stop? Delete it? Help. Please?

Also, thanks to Wikipedia.

_No one laughs at God in a hospital  
No one laughs at God in a war  
No one's laughing at God when they've lost  
All they got and they don't know what for  
No one laughs at God on the day they realize  
That the last sight they'll ever see is a pair of hateful eyes  
No one's laughing at God when they're saying their goodbyes_

_-Laughing With, Regina Spektor_

* * *

A hostagecrisis develops when one or more terrorists or criminals hold people against their will and try to hold off the authorities by force, threatening to kill the hostages if provoked or attacked.

In a planned hostage crisis, there is often a list of political or religious demands, often including the release of imprisoned friends or allies. In cases where the hostage situation was improvised as a desperate attempt to avoid capture, the demands usually revolve around exchanging the lives of the hostages for transport to safety.

All this, Brennan knows, is basically common knowledge. Anyone who watches a crime show, reads crime novels, or even watches the News will know what a hostage situation looks like. But if you were to ask a random person walking the streets of D.C., chances are that they wouldn't be able to tell you what it feels like to be in a hostage situation. She couldn't tell you either.

She could tell you, however, what it feels like to have a loved one in such a situation.

OoOoOoOoOoO

It was a Friday. No one at the FBI works after six on a Friday, and even that is a stretch. Unless you're Booth, (who always works unless he has Parker) or Charlie--the Junior Agent who has been trying to be promoted to Special Agent for four years. There are a handful of deskjockies, cleaning personel, and security guards.

Security sits at desk in the lobby once regular buisness hours are over. The shift change happens at around ten o'clock. Since it was officially the weekend, maintenace starts on the top floor, works their way down, and is out of the building by ten. Booth and Charlie were at Charlie's desk, both laughing at something the Senior Agent had said. Booth patted the younger man on the shoulder, whished him a good weekend, and returned to his office.

Fridays are always short staffed. Always. People call in "sick", and Uncle Sam has nothing to say but "get better soon. Yeah, sure thing. See you Monday." Agents are not the only ones who skip out on work. That particular Friday, one security guard had claimed flu. Sure, he could be telling the truth. No biggie, it's only Friday. Except, at one moment -the same moment Booth left Charlie at his desk, actually- somthing had hit the glass frame out in the lobby. Since there were only two guards on duty that night, one stayed seated as his co-worker arose from the desk, and made his way to the large glass doors.

"I'll just make my rounds right now, 'cause they're due in ten anyways. Be right back, 'kay?"

The guard sitting at the desk looked up from the book he was reading. "Sure, see you in a bit," he said, returning to the novel.

As he turned the page, he looked up to find the buisness end of a gun in his face. Eyes wide, all he could to was cooperate.

Take your gun from the holster. Give it to me. Walk around here, hands on your head. Wait, no. Disactivate the camera's first. Now walk around. Now, let's go. C'mon, move it.

He did as he was told.

As Booth leaned back into his chair, checking the time, he sighed. He heard the elevator door open, accompanied by the _bing _that always followed the opening of the doors. "See ya later, Charlie," he called, rather loudly. The younger Agent popped his out from behind his desk, eye brows crinkled.

Booth wondered who would be back at such a time, but knew that he returned to the office on accasion. Usually not on a Friday, but who was he to judge, his social life wasn't the greatest anymore, either. He looked back down at his phone, considered calling Bones. She was still at the Lab, he knew. She told him she'd be there until at least nine. Maybe she could use a cup of coffee. Always an excellent excuse to get her to leave work.

He looked up when Charlie was being backed up into his office, followed by a security guard that Booth recognized, but whose name he couldn't place. Then, he saw them. One of them was heading towards offices he knew held very confidential files. Shit. "Take out your gun, hand it over, Hot Shot." As he reached down to grab his gun for his new captors, he hid his phone on the floor, knowing he would need it soon.

* * *

"Dr. Brennan!" Cam shouted across the lab. "You need to leave before ten tonight, alright?"

She sighed. "Alright, I promise. I told Booth I'd be out before nine, but I'm almost finished with these remains."

The beeping of Cam's access card caused Brennan to look up. Her boss approached, looking much more relaxed than she usually does during the day.

"Oh, alright. That's good." She said, turning on her heals. "Have a nice weekend."

"Yeah, you too."

Brennan was left alone with the remains for less than two minutes when Cam returned into the lab. She walked upto the platform, but did not climb the stairs to the top. She stood, speaking on the phone, looking quite serious. "Yes, sir. She's here."

She looked up at Brennan whom was, again, immersed in the bones infront of her. "Dr. Brennan. Cullen- he's... Here," she said, handing Brennan the phone as the anthropologist descended the stairs to meet her boss.

"Brennan."

"There's, uhm. Dr. Brennan, there's a situation at the Hoover building. I'm on my way there now. I would suggest you meet me there as soon as you can."

Brennan looked up at Cam, seeking some type of confirmation. "Situation, sir?"

"I'll fill you in when I see you. Be quick," he spoke quickly, hanging up before Brennan had a chance to say anything.

She handed the phone back to Cam. "What's going on?"

"I don't know. He said he wanted to speak with you; that it was urgent."

"I've gotta go. I'll call you. I'll call when I know what's going on."

Brennan went into her office, trying not to panic, knowing full well that it was probably justified. She grabbed her phone, threw it into her purse. Leaving her lab coat on the chair behind her desk, she headed to her car. Before she pulled out of Lot B, she checked her phone. One missed call; Sam Cullen. A text from Angela saying "turn on channel 4, 9, 28 or 47". Also, a text from Sweets, asking if she and Booth would be at their session tomorrow. None from Booth... She didn't know if that was a good thing, or not.

She forgot about what Angela had said, and drove to meet Cullen.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Before she had even arrived at the Hoover building, she knew something was wrong. She could see the lights from the police vehicles from two blocks away. Breathe in, breathe out. When she was finally granted access trhough the barricades, she parked her car and found Cullen right away. He was barking orders at everyone who was near him.

"Dr. Brennan," he said as she approached him.

"What's going on?"

"At approximately nine-forty-six, three assalants entered the building after killing the guard who was making rounds. Camera's are off. They only just made contact a few minutes ago. That's why I couldn't tell you much on the phone; I didn't know.

"We thought that Booth was in there, his car was still in the lot. But sometimes agents leave vehicles here over the weekend. He wasn't answering his phone. We got suspicious. Then the guys called. They've got him, another guard, a Junior Agent named Charl-"

"I know who he is. So, what is happening? What do they want."

Cullen ran his hand over his face. "We don't think they expected anyone to be there. We were pretty lucky, but still. They said they were keeping everyone a glass office. We assume that it's Booth's. They want files, apparently. They're having a tough time finding 'em I guess."

Brennan drew in a shaky breath, as she sat on the curb. "Okay. Are you sending in the, uh, Tic-"

"Tacticle Team. Not yet. We've got people scanning, looking for body heat, that kind of thing."

"Okay," she said, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "So, uhm, the hostages were pre-meditaed? Or, what?"

"We don't know yet."

Brennan couldn't help but think that they knew very little. It terrified her.

* * *

She had been sitting on the curb for over an hour before she felt her phone vibrate in her purse. Text Message; from Booth. She felt her heart jump in her chest.

_Don't reply, too risky.  
__I'm okay. 1 guy downstairs, 1 guy here, 1 ?  
__Taking guy here out soon. Trying.  
__TTYS._

Brennan walked over to Cullen and showed him the message. He started yelling more orders to every person he could find, trying to explain. Brennan just returned to her spot on the curve.

Half an hour later, she got another one.

_Got him. 2 guys in basement.  
Do we try and go?  
3 of us, 2 them.  
See you soon?_

She looked over at Cullen, who was still barking at the Agents around him.

_I don't know, do you think you'll make it?  
Be careful. I'm waiting outside for you.  
I don't care how long it takes._

She hit send.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Ten minutes after she sent the message, Cullen sent men into the building. They brought Booth, Charlie and the guard out five minutes after that. Booth was bleeding. Pistol whipped, she knew. He fought.

When She finally reached him, she immediatly looked at his forehead.

"It's a flesh wound, Bones. I'm okay," he said, pulling her hands away from the wound.

"You're okay," she repeated as she hugged him tightly, not caring who saw.

"I'm okay." He hugged her tighter. "Wanna go get a drink?"

She laughed, pulling away. He wiped at the tears that were escaping the corners of her eyes.

"I'd could use some of that good bottle, the one that I wan't supposed to open."

"Alright. Pizza, too? 'Cause I'm starving."

She shook her head in disbelief. "Of course you, of all people, would be thinking about food, when all I could think about was how terrified I was."

He took her by the hand, as they walked towards Brennan's car. "It's okay."

"You're okay," she repeated again, feeling her entire body relax as it leant into Booth's form, guiding her away from the chaos.

* * *

**A/N:** So, guys? Like it? Think I should stop? Want to let me know?


	30. People Magazine

**A/N: **I don't know if anyone that reads this has ever been to Vancouver, or lives here but I need to talk about this for just a second. We have the strangest weather. I swear to God, it's like we're in The Rain Kind episode of the X Files. For anyone who has no clue to what I'm talking about, just imagine hail the size of golfballs and random thunder showers that take down half of a National Park in less than a day. Anyways, last week it was 39 degrees celcius, which is 102 ferinhiet. And now it feels like it's going to snow, I've even got a pot of Tea sitting on the stove. Also, I even wore my rain boots to walk my dog. So, before I return to work, I get a few days of rain, buckets worth. Just what I wanted in the middle of August. Fan-freakin'-tastic. That's why this is taking place in February; that's what it feels like to me right now. On the up side, there are two episodes of Bones on this week. That's my reason to smile. :)

This was actually inspired by the new S5 promo; if you haven't seen it, get on it now! You can find it on YouTube. Also, it proves my theory that Cam is a huge shipper. Does no one agree with me?

I don't own _People Magazine,_ just in case you thought I did. Don't sue?

* * *

Working for the gouvernment definitely has its benifits. Free dental, medical, an average of 45 days worth of vacation. It also, though, has its downfalls. If you want good vacation time, you need to book it nine months in advance, and no one who has the same level of power in your work area can take the same days. Also, how many days you take at a time is limited to sixteen.

And the free dental/medical package. Hah, that was all a ploy. If she wanted to sit in a doctors office that smelt like feet, vaseline, and polysporen, then yes, it was free. And seeing as she worked for a facility which updated its equipment regularily, it was equally depressing that they sent her to a doctor whose office didn't seem to have been updated since the eighties.

Cam opened up the heavy wooden door, and walked up to the young receptionest who was typing quite vigurously. She waited for the young assistant to look up from the screen, circa 1993, and then spoke. "Hi. Camille Saroyan, I've got an appointment with Dr. Garth at twelve-fifteen."

The receptionist nodded. "Sure thing. The Doc's just finishing up with a patient. Just take a seat, he'll be with you as soon as he can."

Cam nodded, and sat down in an uncomfortable cushioned chair. She checked her BlackBerry to see if anyone, anywhere, had an update for her. There was a new body that she needed to autopsy upon her return; no murder, just a family wanting cause of death. Other than that, not much was going on at the lab: Hodgins was looking at some particulates for the people from the actual museum, Angela was doing a facial reconstruction for Brennan's Limbo case. Brennan herself was at the Hoover with Sweets and Booth. She had no idea as to what intern was working with them that week, or where said student was.

She looked around the waiting room, and once again, nothing caught her attention. So she picked up a magazine from the coffee table in front of her. It was relatively old, like all magazines in every doctor's office. This one was only from September. Five months ago. Could be worse.

There was an article that featured BrAngelina's new adoptee, a young girl from Thailand. There was the scoop on the Michael Jackson Killer trial. That was still in the News in September. Poor guy. Cam shook her head; she had enjoyed the man's music. His children were certainly traumatised. There was a cross word that had long ago been completed, Jennifer Aniston gossip and another hundred things that Cam didn't give a rat's ass about.

The only thing that intrigued her the least bit was a two page 'game', if that's what it would be classified as, in which there were pictures of celebrities whose faceses were hidden. The point was to guess the owner. Cam looked around. Waiting room was still empty...So why not?

The first one turned out to be Adam Sandler with his daughter. Then, there was someone who looked like, _Oh,__ my__ God!_

The caption read "This beautiful author was got smooching with this hottie in a park in D.C. The pictureshad someone, the hottie, who looked a Hell of a lot like Booth. _Oh, m__y God_. The first shot captured Booth and someone sitting on a bench whose face was out of view seeing as it was tucked into his neck. The second shot showed the two attached at the mouth, smiles visible. _Oh, my God! _

Cam let out a laugh, then covered her mouth with her hand immediately. She looked up from the magazine. Still empty. The receptionest was giving her a funny look, but looked back down at her computer screen as soon as Cam looked her way. Cam looked back down at the magazine. She was captivated. She just couldn't believe it. Oh, my God.

A door creaked, and then a man spoke, "Cam? I can see you know," then the door creaked again as the doctor retreated into wherever he'd come from. She folded the page corner over, and looked around again, quickly. She then shoved the magazine into her purse. She needed to show Angela.

Cam walked over to the receptionist desk. "Pardon me. What room did Dr. Garth ask me to go into?"

"Uhm, he didn't, but you can go on in number two. I'll tell him you're there."

Cam nodded. As she opened the door to exam room number two, she shook her head.

Brennan was famous enough to be in People Magazine. Brennan was one of the best forensic anthropologists in the world, and she was a genius. Yet, she thought that she could hide this from Cam? Or Angela?

Oh, my God.

* * *

**A/N:** I know that this is short, and kind of silly, but I'm hoping to actually update this twice tonight!

Do I need to beg you to tell me what you think? :)


	31. Mad Gab!

**A/N:** This is kind of silly. If you've never played MAD GAB before, I suggest you do! It's fantastic.

* * *

"Come on, Bren! It'll be fun. It's just a dinner party." Angela was in her best friend's office trying to convince her to come over to Hodgins's place the following day for a dinner party. She was begging, she realized. She also knew that she seemed to be hopping up and down, yet she couldn't fathom why.

"Ange, I don't kno-"

"I'm using one of my freebies!" She almost shouted. She'd forgotten about those. When Brennan and Cam had originally come up with the system, Angela had insisted that she be apart of it. "I'm using one, and if you use one to deny it, I'm using another to blick that. And I _know_ that you already used one with Cam yesterday, and that means you're out of freebies for this week. So, what's it gunna be? Do I need to drag you kicking and screaming or what?"

Brennan looked up over at her best friend, rolled her eyes, and smiled. "I know that if you're talking about it like an idiot, you must really want me to go. So, fine, Angela, I'll come over tomorrow."

"Super," Angela said with a smile, "you can even make that salsa/sour cream stuff that everyone loves."

"Why does no one know that it's called Seven Layer Dip? It's common!"

"Right, sorry," she said exiting the office before Brennan could change her mind.

* * *

When Booth arrived at the door, Angela opened it before he could even knock. "Hey, hotstuff. So nice of you to join us."

He frowned. "Ange, I'm only ten minutes late. C'mon."

Angela rolled her eyes, but stepped aside. "Gimme your coat, G-man." Booth complied, and waited as Angela hung his coat in the large closet. He handed her the bottle of wine that had caused him to be tardy, and she smiled. "Thanks," she patted him on the air. "Everyone's out back. Jack's cookin' something up on the barbeque, though, he could probably use some help."

When they reached the patio, which was easily the size of Booth's apartment, Booth could smell the food already. He hadn't eaten lunch today, surprisingly, so he was quite fammished. He passed Hodgins at the barbeque, asked if help was needed, got shut down, and took a seat beside his partner.

"What's up, Bones?"

"Are you refering to the colloquialism, or are you asking us what is above us?"

"Ah, Bones. Don't ever change. The first; how's it goin'?"

"I'm doing well. How about yourself?" She asked, leaning forward to dip a tortilla ship into her home made seven layer dip.

"I'm better now," Booth said with a smile, dipping a chip. "I'm starving."

Brennan shook her head. "Well, you eat an exsessive amount of food. You're going to need to cut down on fatty foods, and eat mroe fruit soon; before your motabolism slows. You really should consider vegetarianism. It's healthier than eating meat. Also, eating it in the morning with your eggs is very unhealth-"

"Yeah," he interrupted, "I know. My motabolism is just fine, Bones."

"You could have one of the veggie cabbobs that Hodgins is making, instead of a steak or chicken wings or whatever else he's making."

"No way, Bones. No way. Has he ever made anyhting for you? Good God, he's fantastic at making a steak."

"No, whenever I come over, him and Angela always order pizza. It's a surprise that they aren't over weight."

"Oh, _I_ know why they're not gettin' fat."

Brennan's eye brows crinckled. "Oh," she said after a moment. "You're refering to the large amount of time they spend fornicating."

Booth grimaced. "Bones, ew. Why do you need to say it like that?"

"What else do you want me to--"

"Okay, you two. Cut it out. We're going to eat inside. I hate misquitoes almost more than I hate looking at dead bodies. So, let's go."

Angela helped Hodgins carry all the food inside, with Booth and Brennan followed close behind.

"I don't see why you would say 'ew'. They are both attractive people. And you've flirted with Angela before, so I assume that you find her sexually attractive, and Hod--"

Booth groaned. "Bones just stop it, okay? Please?"

"Whatever, Booth," she said as she stepped into the house.

* * *

"It's fun, guys! Come on, I promise!"

Booth and Brennan looked at each other. "Bones, let's just play. It'll shut them up. Plus, we will obviously win."

"Fine, we can play. But I don't know the rules."

Angela clapped her hands together. "Alright! Teams of two. So, us versus you two. There's a deck of cards that have phrases on them, except the phrases, when said quickly, say another phrase. One person holds the card, and the other guesses. It's easy. You need to guess the correct, actual phrase as many times as you can before the hourglass empties. Once the deck is gone, the team that guessed the most cards wins. You can give clues, but they can't include catagory, and you can't say any of the words in the answer."

Brennan looked quizzical.

"How about you two go first, so that Bones can watch and learn?"

"Sounds fair," Hodgins answered. "Good luck, Dr. B, you're gunna need it."

"Dream big, Bugman," said Booth, with a smile on his face.

As it turned out, Hodgins had been right. They did need luck, and had none. Brennan was too logical to ever jump to the conclusion that playing the game required. Booth had gotten frustrated with her after Angela and Jack had gained twenty-six points on them. After another round, Brennan had declared that she hated the game, and was quitting.

"Thank God," Booth mumbled under his breath.

"Oh, get over it, Booth. Just because you lost to us doesn't mean you need to blame Bren. You were just as bad as her."

"Was not."

"Actually, Booth, you're pretty halarious to watch. Especially when you get really flustered. Also, the adrenaline that accompanied the game also added to the excitement."

"Bones, you just said you hated it."

She smiled as she stood from her spot on the couch. "I did hate it, while I was guessing. But watching you was... satisfying. It's rare, in almost every society, for an alpha male to lose anything. It was interesting to participate in such an experience."

And that," Angela paused, "is when I know it's time to sent you home," she said as she directed the two towards the front door.

"Thank you for having us, Jack."

"Yeah, Hodgins, Thanks."

He nodded, "no problem, guys."

"Talk to you tomorrow, Ange?"

"You know it," she said as she hugged Brennan.

"Night," Booth said as he and Bones made their way to the drive way. Angela and Hodgins waved from the door way.

Booth turned and dug his keys out of his pocket. "Wanna come over tomorrow and watch a movie with Parker and I?"

"It's actually Parker and _me_," Brennan corrected, "but, yes, I think I would enjoy that."

Booth rolled his eyes. "I can never get it right," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasim.

"Nope," Brennan replied, missing the tone completely. He rolled his eyes again.

"Okay, see you at around, what, four?"

"Sounds good, Booth."

"Night, Bones."

"Good night."

* * *

**A/N:** I promised another update tonight! See! I did it!


	32. Tampons LOL

**A/N:**I don't know if I've said why this story is titled 'A Cup Half Full'. I guess I should let you know. I think that even though Bones is about death and criminals and everything, I think that there is actually a reason that so many TV shows are themed like so. I think that we need to see what evil is possible, and that it is very real. It happens to everyday people. It happens everyday. Bad things do happen. But so do good things.

I'm a realist. I know that. When someone asks me if a cup of water is half empty or half full, I just think that it's a half cup of water. I accept that some people see the negative, and that some see the positive. But I have a hard time doing either. I see things for what they are. I guess in that way, I'm a lot like Brennan... or how I like to think of her anyway. I want to be more like the people who only take the good from situations--more like Booth. And I think that that is what this show is really about: Growth.

This story was how I planned grow, not only as a writer, but as a person. So, It's going to have fifty-one chapters. Fifty-one percent. To the eye, it looks like fifty--like half. But really, it's more, but only the people who take the time to really look, who really try, will see it as such.

This chapter is silly, and short, just like the last two.

* * *

They were sitting at their table, picking at the remnants of their food. With no case, they had little to actually talk about.

What Limbo cases you workin' on, Bones?/ Oh, I'm actually working on identifying some WWII remains. How about you?/ Not much really, but I did teach a one day seminar at Quantico, that was pretty cool.

Their conversations were always the same when they were working on a case. So, they made small talk before their food arrived, didn't speak while they ate, and made more small talk after they were finished. They made plans to watch movies, and eat take-out, and maybe even take Parker to the museum.

The young waitress came around to their table, and poured them each another cup of coffee.

"Bones, is there any sugar packets in that little thing?"

Brennan quickly looked through the assorted sweeteners. "Actually, there isn't." She walked over to the counter to grab some as her phone rang. "There's none in this one either. Can you answer that?"

"Uh, sure," he said leaning over to reach into her purse. Good God, he thought, how does she find anything in here. Looking through her pruse to find her phone seemed extremely private, for some reason.

He wasn't sure what most women kept in their purses, Rebecca certainly never let him go through hers... neither did his mother. Bones had dental floss, Aspirin, make-up (not that she needed it), her wallet, Jeffersonian ID, chap stick... and tampons. He grimaced, but kept searching. He dug around until he located the mobile, and answer. "Dr. Brennan's phone."

"Booth?"

He smiled, "hey Angela."

"Not much," she paused. "Is, uh, is Bren there?"

"Sure thing," he said handing the phone to Brennan as she sat back down in her chair. "It's Angela." She passed him the sugar packets. "Thanks."

Brennan spoke with the artist for a few minutes, then hung up and tossed her phone back into her purse.

There was an awkward silence for a few minutes, then Booth had to break it. "So."

Brennan crinkled her eyebrows together, then nodded knowingly. "Oh."

"Oh what?" He said, sounding somewhat defensive.

"Oh as in you saw my tampons and it made you uncomfortable. You know, for someone so private, you are very easy to observe. It's perfectly natural, I don't know what your problem is. It's just a peri--"

"Stop it!"

Bones smiled. "Why? What about it makes you so uncomfortable? Surely when you were involved with Rebecca, or Tessa, or even Cam, it must've come up in conversation. It's natural. Why do you--"

"Bones," he said, finally making eye contact. "Please, just, don't?"

"It's no reason for you to get all, what's it called? Frazzled?"

"Yeah, frazzled."

"Well, still Booth, you don't need to be distraught that you came across a tampon. I _am_ a woman. It does happen from time to time. Well, actually, not randomly from time to," she paused. "Never mind. You don't want to discuss it."

"Thank you," he said. "Now, you sure you don't want any pie?"


	33. Let The World Fade Away

_As we drank our wine, we let the world fade away  
The sunrise tried to end it, while we tried to stay  
The rest of my life can't compare to this night  
Only the heart aches have given me sight  
__  
-They Bring Me to You, Joshua Radin_

* * *

There is something peaceful about sitting on her balcony tonight. I can't really place it. For a long time, I hated even looking at the damn glass doors. So it was a big deal, standing out here. Even though all I could really see was the building opposite hers, it was still beautiful. And although most of the stars are invisible because of the city lights, knowing that they're there is an amazing comfort.

She'd had a party. She said she'd never done it before, and no matter how sad it was, I knew she was telling the truth. So, to celebrate the last month of summer, she had close to forty people in her apartment, I helped her barbecue a whole bunch of hod dogs and steaks and chicken wings.

Angela had apparently supplied the large amount of people, but Bones managed to get a good fifteen people there on her own. Parker and Bec even stopped by for a bit.

And now that her house was a disaster, dirty plates and empty bottles all over the apartment, she escaped to the patio without my knowledge. I was singing along to a Cat Power song that I didn't know that I knew. I emerged from the kitchen to see her leaning on the railing, wine glass in hand. I poured myself a glass, amazed that I could find something to drink it from, and walked up behind her.

My hand lands on the small of her back, and she turns and smiles. "Hey," she almost whispers.

I lean forward, mimicking her posture before taking a sip of the chardonnay. "I loaded up the dishwasher."

"Thanks," she says, taking a sip of her own wine. "Thanks for staying to help clean up."

I smiled and leaned into her, bumping her shoulder lightly with my own. "It's not a problem. Can't leave the mess here for you to clean up all on your own."

She looks a bit confused, but doesn't comment further. We stand there for a few minutes in silence, and I'm wishing I knew what she was thinking. She looks relaxed and tense at the same time. But she's got her jeans on, and her hair looks fantastic and she smells like barbeque smoke and wine and her damn lemon shampoo and I find I don't really care what she's thinking anymore.

I take another sip from my glass, trying to change my line of thought. "Whatcha thinkin', Bones?" I ask, figuring that this will keep us both busy for a bit.

"I'm thinking," she says, pausing slightly, "that we haven't been out here together since Epps."

I nod, wishing she hadn't brought it up. Epps. That's when I drew that god damn line. "No. No we haven't."

"I don't ever come out here," she says, and I feel like I'm about to learn something private about her. There's a certain way that she speaks, she probably doesn't even notice, but when she really speaks from her heart she gets this... tone in her voice. It's shy, and open, and just fantastic in every way that Bones is, but it's sad, too, and that's what really gets me. "I don't know why. I really should, shouldn't I?"

"I guess you could." I don't really know what she wants me to say, so I just let her keep on talking.

"It's beautiful, really. But not in a way that I think is commonly referred to. It doesn't have a view of the river, you can't see any monuments, it's just another building and a street. But, it's simple, and it has air that isn't recycled, and it's just... Am I making any sense at all?"

"Sure you are," I assure her. "It's comforting."

"Exactly."

I take another sip, and I realized that my glass of wine is almost gone. She's looking over at me, and she points at the glass. "You probably shouldn't drive. You've had a fair amount to drink today. I can make up the guess room, if you want..."

I shake my head. "No way, Bones. I'm not a guest. I can do it." She looks skeptical, and I smile that smile that I save just for her in moments like these. "But thank you."

I look at my watch and realize that it's actually very late. "Bones, it's almost three in the morning! Why are you awake?"

She looks at my like I'm a fool. "Why are _you_ awake?"

She has a good point. I'm not actually that tired. Summer has a way of making you think that you can live on two hours of sleep. It's not healthy, but I have to admit that it makes me feel pretty freakin' young. "Well, I don't really know. I guess I'm not all that tired."

"I feel the same way."

We share a few moments of silence again, and I stare blankly at the building across the street. After every lingering touch, and lasting glance, after pulling her from the ground and jumping into her arms in that chopper, after brain surgery, and a coma, and broken rips, and gunshot wounds, and horricific childhoods, and working with the dead--after all of it she is still here beside me, silently keeping me company. I guess if you think about it, it's really me keeping her company, but that doesn't seem to matter...not to me at least.

And after every time that I was too scared to say something, to tell her how I really feel, there is something special about this balcony that makes me feel brave. Lucky, and vulnerable, and alone, and safe. There's something that is giving me courage. I don't know if it's the fact that she's standing so close, or that she smells so incredible, or if she is so quiet. But it's making me strong enough to ask "can I hold your hand?"

And now she's looking at me and I don't feel so brave, but then she wraps her fingers around mine, and I can feel the blush fade from my cheeks. She leans her head on my shoulder and doesn't say anything except "no, but I'll hold yours."


	34. Forget What's Gone

**A/N**: One thing that bugs we about this show is that we never get to see the moments that are purely, and totally emotional. There are things that I really wish I could've seen. For example, when Brennan found out Booth was 'dead'. Or immediatly after the S4 finale. Cam and Booth's break up, after Angela and Hodgins's fail wedding, where Brennan and Booth went after sitting in the stair case ater the S3 finale. I could go on, but I doubt you care.

Anyways, this piece that takes places sometime during the two weeks when Booth was 'dead'. I know this has been done about 507890754 times. I've done a sotry about it before. But I just watched Wannabe, so I'm in the mood.

I want to apologize to those of you who hate songfics. They're not my favorite either... mostly because you can make any song fit with these two. And I don't like posting them. But I just-- I don't know... I just needed this one. The song is **On Your Own**, by **Green Water Ordinance**, and I don't own it. Bummer, I know.

* * *

_Watchin the time go, the second hand is movin' to fast  
Who ever thought that it ever really ever would last  
And if your conscience weighs a little heavy tonight  
Maybe you'll find it, maybe you'll find..._

Angela had covered her office in plastic. The carpets, desk, Angelator, shelves, chairs... everything was coated in a shinny clear protective layer. Her office door was closed, but it provided no real privacy. The glass walls mocked her, a silent reminder that no matter how much she tried, she would never be free of death. Not here, where it was indubitable, not anywhere. Because no matter where she went, the whole that she felt, for losing her mother, for losing her high school sweetheart, and now, for losing a part of her, albiet odd, amazing family.

And she hadn't only lost Booth. No. She'd lost Brennan, too. Because all the progress she and Booth had made, it didn't matter anymore. All that was left of her friend was an empty shell. She had no spirit, no flare, anymore.

So, as the empty shell that used to be her best friend threw herself into her work, and her fiancee stood by, watching, not knowing how to help, and grieving the loss of a friend as well, Angela went back to what she loved. She immersed herself in something more emotional than bugs or skeletons. She let herself feel the despair that had taken up residence inside her heart, and she let it _show_.

She covered her office in plastic, ordered a canvas the size of her bedroom wall, brought all her paint from home into work, and she let her feelings show in the only way she knew.

She sat cross legged in front of the now paint covered canvas, paint under her nails, and in her hair.

She had started with a brown color. Because of his eyes, she thought. She had started with it in the middle, and she had simply let her paint brush move. Slowly, she faded the brown to grey, and then to blue, and then red. The center, the brown of Booth's eyes, formed a rectangle. And the fading from grey to blue looked like Brennan's eyes. And the red... The red looked felt like the red of his heart. Warm and inviting and understanding. It looked like the blood that covered Brennan's clothes just four days ago.

As Angela looked up at the painting, she felt her eyes burn with tears. She ran her forearm over them, and took a deep breath.

_You gotta go or you'll never know  
Just how it all will turn out  
Forget what's gone  
The western turn leads no doubt_

Once, Brennan had invited her and Jack over for dinner. After Brennan buzzed them into the building, she must have opened up the front door. Angela could hear them arguing all the way down the hall. She laughed, and looked over at Jack.

He had never been to Brennan's place before, and as they neared the door, he'd point to it and said, "look at that. That's kinda cute, right?"

She stopped in front of the door, "what d'you mean?"

"I don't know," he said. "Just, 2B. Brennan and Booth, two b's. It's like everything around them is rooting for them to get together."

Angela had smiled. "I'd never thought of it like that," she said, the pushed the door open with her shoulder. "You two! Cut it out!"

_Empty boxes on the stairs  
Remind you that there's no one there_

She stood in front of the canvas, cursing herself. Suddenly, she hated it. Hated the damn panting for reminding her of the fun that she had had with him. Hated it for making her feel worse instead of better. She hated it because it made her remember, instead of forget. She dried her eyes on her forearm, trying to forget.

She sat back down again, slowly. She noticed then that the painting looked like the door to Brennan's apartment. A door, behind which Angela had shared and wasted plenty of time with Brennan. As of late, the time that they spent just with each other was diminishing. But Angela had been searching for her husband, and it had been time consuming.

Husband. That should be Jack. But Angela was lucky. She had Jack, and Jack had her. And at night, when it got too difficult, he could hold her, and tell her it was all going to be alright, and she could cry. But Brennan... Brennan had no one.

So, yes, maybe Angela was being selfish, hiding in her office. She hadn't cared. At least not until she saw Brennan all alone on that platform. Alone with the empty Limbo boxes. All alone with death. Alone with a hole in her heart. She worked alone, now, too. And she went home to her empty apartment, alone with her empty heart.

Brennan had no one, but she could have Angela. She could help Brennan, she decided. She would be strong when she was with her bestfriend, just like Jack was for her at night.

She stood again, and slowly walked to her office door. As she unlocked it, it felt like she was unlocking a part of herself. Opening it up. She could be vulnerable and strong at the same time. She could do it for Brennan.

She walked up to the forensic platform, and fought back the memories of Booth. No. No, she told herself, be strong for Brennan. She hesitated before she swiped her card through the scanner, and slowly climbed the stairs.

_On your own again  
Back to where it all began  
The phone don't ring  
And the tears they fall_

She realized that Brennan didn't notice that Angela was there. It was like... before. Before Booth. She waited a few moments before she spoke. "Hey, uh, Bren?"

Brennan slowly looked up from the body, and turned. "Hi, Ange."

She had that look on her face. She look she'd had since the moment Angela had come looking for her the morning after... after Brennan had left the hospital. Her eyes were always watery. On the verge of tears. "I-- uh... Do you want you, you know, get some lunch or something?"

"No, thank you."

It was like before. There was no punch left in Brennan. She wasn't really living. Just going through the motions. Exam remains, exam remains, type up report, exam remains, write a chapter, exam remains, shower, teach, pretend to sleep for five hours, exam remains. The robotic, aloof woman that hadn't been Brennan in a very long time had returned.

"Are you sure?"

"Angela, I'm not hungry. I'm a fine, okay? I need to work, excuse me."

Angela sighed, accepted that she wouldn't get Brennan to eat today, and walked back down the stairs. She needed to make sure that Brennan knew that she loved her. That Jack and Cam and Sweets and Zach, they all loved her. Sure, they might never love her the way Booth had, but she still mattered. She was still important.

Angela knew that Brennan was lost, in a sense. But still, that didn't mean she could shut herself off. People were aloud to hurt. _To feel._Brennan just needed to see it. Angela wanted to see her friend laugh again. To see her smile. She wanted to see Brennan cry. She wanted to see the Brennan that had emerged in the past three years. Because as much as Angela loved the old Brennan, it was Booth's Brennan that she wanted. It was Booth's Brennan that would cry, and laugh, and jump in a puddle. It was Booth's Brennan that would let Angela care.

She walked back to her office, and turned to look back at Brennan. She watched Zach as he walked up the stairs to the platform, saying "bones are clean." She watched Brennan's shoulders shake a little, watched her as she wiped at her eyes.

She opened up her door, and locked it again. I didn't matter that the service was in ten days, and that Brennan was Booth's next of kin. It wasn't relevant that Brennan had denied teh two week leave that Cam had suggested. It didn't matter that Angela was going to throw the canvas in her office away. All that mattered was that Booth was gone.

So, yeah, Angela had covered her office in plastic, everything coated in a shinny clear protective layer, and Brennan had built a wall around her heart. It didn't matter that her heart had a hole in it. It didn't matter that Brennan was all alone inside those brick walls. Because the plastic covering Angela's office carpets didn't keep out the pain, and neither did the wall of stone.

She turned away from the glass walls. She turned away from the metallic, pristine lab. She walked over to the still drying canvas, and carried it over to the glass that separated her, barely, from the death that surrounded her. It didn't cover up the pain in her heart, but it covered the mocking, constant reminder of the pain that was around her. The transparent wall didn't feel the same as it had when she had left her office not five minutes earlier. It wasn't reminding Angela that she couldn't hide.

It was reminding her that Brennan could.

* * *

_Nobody told you that nothin plays out like it seems  
Is it everything you thought it would be?_

_On your own again  
Back to where it all began  
The phone don't ring  
And the tears they fall  
But you carry on and on and on_

_You gotta go, or you'll never know  
Just how it all will turn out  
Forget what's gone_

You gotta go  
You carry on and on and on and on  
You gotta go  
You gotta go


	35. There's a Shadow

_Maybe one day you'll understand  
That I want nothing from you but to sweetly hold your hand  
Till that day just please don't be so down  
Don't make frowns, you silly clown_

_-Folding Chair, Regina Spektor  
_

_

* * *

_

The snow had started falling while they were in the diner. It wasn't a heavy downfall. It was only mid-November, and it wasn't supposed to snow for another two weeks. The weather man was wrong again.

The flakes were small, but the air was cold. They asked for their coffee to-go, and he held the door open for her. Cars rushed through the D.C. streets, rushing home to their families, their room-mates, or maybe their cats. She didn't care. The snow flakes were sticking in to his hair, making it look darker than it actually was.

"Parker loves the snow," he said, grimacing.

"I loved it as a child as well"

He nodded, and she couldn't help but wonder what had upset him so quickly. She figured it was because he wasn't with Parker during the first snowfall of the year. But the way he was just _looking_ at her, really looking, it made her believe otherwise.

Her hands were holding her coffee cup tightly as she tried to warm her fingers. They stood on the sidewalk, just watching the cars pass, the snow fall. "Are you cold?"

She shook her head, no. "Just my hands."

He smiled a little, and she felt the corners of her mouth twitch. "Your hands are always cold, Bones."

She nodded as he slipped his fingers between hers. She looked at him, and smiled widely. "Yours are always warm."


	36. No Changies, No Take backs

**A/N**: The street that the Diner and The Founding Father's is on is actually called Mulberry Street. I like it ! Spoilers for Season 5, and reference to Two Bodies in the Lab.

Thanks to WhiteRose21 for letting me ramble a bit about this, and for helping me sort through my thoughts. I hope all is well. :)

_"Faith is an irrational belief in something that's logically impossible."  
**-Dr. Temperance Brennan, Aliens in a Spaceship**_

* * *

She was your someone. You'd known that for a long time. She was the person that you were supposed to spend the rest of your life with. She was the person you wanted holding your hand when things got tough, the person you wanted to see right before you fell asleep, and the first thing you wanted to see when you woke up in the morning.

You wanted to go on vacation with her. You wanted to spend a week teaching her how to ski, and spend days sitting on a beach. You wanted to go see crappy movies with her. You wanted to sit infront of a fire and rub her feet. You wanted to fight about what to watch on TV, dance to jazz while you rtied to cook. She was the person that you wanted share everything with. You wanted to give her everything. To take her everywhere.

You wanted to make little versions of her, teach them how to swing a bat, and how to kick a soccer ball. You wanted to teach them that they didn't need to always color inside the lines of their coloring books.

You wanted to help her pick out paint for the kitchen. You wanted to teach her how to skip stones on the river, because she, of course, doesn't know how. You wanted to watch Audrey Hepburn movies, and Plan 9 from Outer Space with her. You wanted to take her to the vintage record store on L street. You wanted to take her art museums, and the batting cages, and camping. You wanted to sit on a pier and watch the sun set with her.

You wanted these things because she was your somone. She was the only person you could ever trust with more than your life. She was the one who kept you strong, held you up, helped you stand. She was what kept you together: your Bones.

You had to tell her. You could feel it eating away at you. Knowing that she might never know that she was what really mattered. So, you decided that you had to tell her. You would do it tomorrow...maybe. No. You _would _do it tomorrow. But tomorrows had passed, and she had gone away. And enough tomorrows had passed to make it time for her to return. And enough time for you to return to work. Enough time for you to get a case.

It had been too long. Long enough.

And then you were outside the bar with her, people walking down Mulberry street, holding hands, laughing. And that moment was when you realized that that day was the tomorrow you'd been waiting for. The tomorrow that had finally arrived.

The tomorrow when all your problems began.

_I love you._

Oh, good God. What had you done?

_In a professional, atta-girl kinda way._

Oh, good God. No changies. No take backs.

Who the hell even does that, nudges people in the shoulder? Who says things like that? You did. Apparently.

And then she punched you back, lightly, but it might as well have been a bullet in your heart.

* * *

You should have known. Now that you look back on it, his guilt was completely obvious. You should have seen it, felt it. And now, because you hadn't, she was gone. You knew she would fight him, plead with him even (... well maybe), just to stay alive. She was strong. Stronger than you.

You had your sirens on, and you were breaking about a hundred driving laws. Whatever. It didn't matter. Not really, anyways. You wouldn't spend the time to stop for a cop, trying to explain. You were a damn cop. _Jesus_, you thought, _just shut up. _

You figured you must be really freaked if you were not only talking to yourself, but worrying about traffic laws.

And then you were stopped. You were out of your car, running in without back up. They were on their way. You kicked open the door, and surprised the suspect. Your gun fired, and the guy fell. The whole thing felt familiar. You remembered broken rips, and pulling her onto the ground. That's when, you remembered, you knew that you loved her.

You ran over to her, helped her stand, untied her hands. And then your hand were on her face, and you were speaking. "Oh, my God, Bones. Are you okay?" She nodded. You sighed and held her tighter than was really necessary. Then, all of the sudden, your lips were on hers. The action was haste, and totally emotional. Your hands had moved from her face to behind her head.

You felt your knees give out, and you both dropped to the floor. You could hear sirens in the background.

"I'm so sorry, Bones. Oh, God. I'm sorry."

You didn't know if she knew what you really meant. You didn't really care.

"It's going to be okay," you said, leaning back a bit.

She nodded. "I knew you'd come," she said. "I _knew_."

She might not be ready to love you yet, but she had faith in you. And at the time, that was enough.


	37. When Push Comes to Shove

_

* * *

_

Life's like a novel  
With the end ripped out  
The edge of a canyon  
With only one way down  
Take what you're given before its gone  
Start holding on, keep holding on

_-Stand, Rascal Flatts_

It wasn't a moment of urgency. It was neither haste nor dangerous. It wasn't a drunken fiasco. The moment, it wasn't out of confusion or heartache. It wasn't because of loss, it wasn't because of humour.

It wasn't because they'd had a difficult case. They hadn't spent the day with wife-beaters or dead foster kids. No.

It wasn't because they had had Thai food for dinner. And it wasn't because they'd had the good scotch that night. They didn't even drink scotch that night. It wasn't because Cindi Lauper had played out of the speakers in the dinner, inducing a panic attack. It wasn't because she finally had a bite of pie.

Of all things, it was none of those.

It was because, Booth realized, of Cam.

_I'm in love with Bones._

_You're in love with Dr. Brennan?_

_Yeah._

_You're in love with Dr. Brennan._

_That's what I just said, Camille._

_Well, Seeley, what're you going to do about it?_

_Nothing._

_You have to tell her, you know._

_I guess._

_No. I'm telling you. You have to tell her. Do it now._

_Fine. Whatever._

It was because of Camille. Because Camille had told him he had to. He didn't have to listen to her, and he knew that. So maybe Cam wasn't the reason.

And then, he chickened out. He chickened out because he's a damn coward. He could go off to war, live with an abusive parent, chase killers, and catch drug dealeres. But he couldn't -not for the life of him- say three little words. Sure, he could say them, but he couldn't _say_ them. Maybe it wasn't the fact that he'd had a beer, that she's ate another salade, or that she had gotten home only a week ago.

So he waited. He held it off. Chickened out. Been a coward. He hid. He ran... He did exaclty what he was afraid she was going to do.

Not only was he a coward, but he was a hypocrite too.

And time passed them by just like before. Cases, Thai, beer. The diner, coffee, and car rides. That's what they were. Scotch, and hockey games and Christmas tree shopping. And none of the reason that he ever had, none of them, were because of these things.

It was because, to put it simply, she was his bestfriend. The best friend he had ever had. The friend who sat beside him, unmoving, for four days, or maybe it was years? The person who sat on his couch until two in the morning on a Wednesday. She was the one who invited him over for her family dinners saying that he was "more like family than her father and brother had been in a long, long time." No, it wasn't about beer, or being the hero. It was because of the moments where she just _looked _at him. The moments when he thought that maybe she could feel it too.

It was because one day, he let her go to church with him and Parker, and then they went for ice cream. And as they walked along the river, Parker ran ahead. And he told her that he lied. What do you mean, she had asked. "It was a long time ago," he assured her, "but I still need to say it."

And he told her.

_I don't love you in an atta-girl kind of way. That doesn't mean I don't love you._

He thought about coffee, and pie, and guns. About the-good-bottle-of-scotch, the diner, and Thai food, and seven layer dip. He thought of every guy hug, every look that suggessted more. He thought about taking her to that baseball game, and TV shopping. He thought about french fries, about book dedications, about crappy moraccan beer. About being taken, being saved, and doing the saving. He thought about hockey games with her in the stands, about making her eat McDonalds, and going skating.

He thought about what he was about to tell her, realized that he couldn't do anything but be honest. All he could do was tell her. Tell her that no matter what, he would always be there for her. Even if she never wanted to see him again, he would wait. That he would wait forever, because eventually...

Eventually?

_Everything happens eventually, Bones._

And she was all of those things, all of those reason. She was hockey, and pie, and flat screen TVs, and a cold bottle of beer. She was everything he wanted, ever.

_You're everything, Bones. You're everything._

And she had held his hand in hers, weaved her fingers through his own, and he knew. She had let him hold on to everything. She had been okay with it. She decided to be alright with being everything to him.

He was never letting go.

* * *

**A/N:** Work has been busy for me, but I guess that's no excuse. YAY, 22 days. Ok, anyways. Classes are starting again, and work is busy and I'm just not hvaing a very good time, so updates might be rare for the next week or so. I apologize. Reviews brighten up my day! Just so you know. ;)


	38. Can't You See My Walls Are Crumbling?

_She walks along the edge of where the ocean meets  
The land just like she's walking on a wire in the circus.  
She knows she's more than just a little misunderstood,  
she has trouble acting normal when she's nervous. _

_-Round Here, Counting Crows  
_  


* * *

You had always been careful. Every single moment, since the Christmas you turned sixteen, you had been careful.

You watched your step. You were weary. Made sure, as if you were standing on the edge of a clif, that your feet were steady. That your back was straight. You made sure that you never looked down. Never looked back.

You made sure that you were alert. Strong.

And yeah, sure, sometimes you would curl up in your bed at night and cry. Sometimes you would take out that box in your closet, just to look at old photographs. But more often than not, you found yourself wondering.

You would find yourself wondering what you would say to your mother if you saw her again. Wondering if you would see her again. Found yourself wondering if she would be proud.

Of course she would be proud, you would find you were telling yourself. You were successful and well ajusted. You were intelligent, and had friends, and a career (well, actually, you had two) that you loved. You had felt pain. You had felt the weight of burden. And you had stayed strong. Careful. Logical. Rational.

But would she think of you as a coward? Is that what you were? By holding in your feelings - by protecting yourself, by being careful - were you being cowardly? Selfish, even? Would that, of all things, be the one aspect of your life that your mother would focus on? Would she see you, see what you were missing, and know? Know that you were like her at all, no matter what your father said? Would she be able to see what you were keeping yourself from? Would she understand?

If she did see it, and did think of you as a coward, would you be able to tell her why? Could you muster up the courage to tell her that it was her fault? That she couldn't judge you about it, because it was all because of her? Would you find the strength within you to tell her the truth?

Could you tell her to her face that the reason you were so _afraid_ to love him was because she had left you? That your own mother - the person who should teach you to put on make up, and help you pick out your prom dress - hadn't been there? That the one person you thought was going to love you forever wasn't her?

That maybe it could be him? That he could be better for you than she ever was? Would you be able to tell her that, yes, you knew that he loved you. And that you felt that he knew you loved him back. Could you muster up the strength to tell her that, yeah, you sometimes saw him looking at you the way that your father had looked at her?

And what would she say if you told her that? What would she think of you then?

Could she ever understand?

Could you?

Could you ever tell him? Would you finally be able to let him know, that yes, on those nights when you pull that box out, you were wishing he was there? That he would just sit, and wait. And simply _be_there. That all you could ever want from him was his company? Wether that company be at work and at the diner, or at home, where ever that may be, late at night? That whatever he would let you have could be enough? That yes, you understood that he wasn't ready for you to love him back. That yes, he had carved his name into your heart, and it was never going to face away.

Could you tell him that you knew? That you knew, and you understood his need for time? And that no matter what he did, no matter what he said, you wouldn't care about it as long as he was okay? That as long as he was breathing, you would be alright? Could you let him know that although you are constantly misunderstood, you knew that he never missed a beat?

One day, maybe when you weren't so strong, so careful, you would tell him. Tell him that no matter what, you weren't going to drift out of his life unless he wanted you to? That you were there for good. That no matter how many battles or wars you had to fight so that you could be with him, that they would all be worth it?

Maybe, one day soon, once you weren't so steady, you could tell him. Maybe you could share every Christmas with him. Maybe you could start a family? And maybe. if he wanted, you could both teach a child how to live a proper life. With a proper childhood. With idioms like 'tie your shoe laces', 'don't touch that', and 'stand up straight, you'll have a worse back than your father'.

Maybe then, once you weren't so strong - so brave - your mother could be proud.

Maybe she would understand.

* * *

_"The first way Counting Crows ever sounded, it was me and Dave in bars and coffee houses playing open mics, doing this song this way. The song begins with a guy walking out the front door of his house, and leaving behind this woman . But the more he begins to leave people behind in his life, the more he feels like he's leaving himself behind as well. The less and less substantial he feels like he's becoming to himself. And that's sorta what the song's about because he feels that even as he disappears from the lives of people, he's disappearing more and more from his own life. The chorus is, he sorta keeps screaming out these idioms these lessons that your mother might say to you when you were a kid, sorta child lessons ya know, 'round here we always stand up straight'...'carving out our names'."_

-Adam Duritz, Counting Crows

So, I basically think that the Counting Crows are pure genuis. I love them, have all their albums, know all of their lyrics. All that jazz. I feel that this song, albeit so depressing, is so absolutely perfect.

Also, today on my way home, I was almost t-boned by a car involved in a car chase. I just felt the need to say so, and aware anyone that if you've ever been apart of one of those, you will never have my respect. Unless, obviously, if you are a cop.


	39. Just Say That You'll Stay

**A/N: **Ouch, guys. One review for the last chapter. I take it that you didn't like it. That's okay, I guess. You don't always have to like everything you read. I definitely don't. I'll know better for next time. Anyways, 6 days for us Canadians, eh? I'm super excited. And, 13 chapters left before this is over! This one makes 12. I'm going to try and not make any of them episode tags, and do those seperately, so that you can get more. More of what, I don't really know. I think that's going to be really hard for me to do, so even better! So, people! Even if you don't like this chapter, could you maybe let me know why? And if you do like it, even better, still share that tib bit with me? Updates are speedier that way!

By the way, is anyone watching Glee? Because I think I've fallen in love with it. Oh, my.

_This night is winding down but  
Time means nothing,  
As always at this hour  
Time means nothing,  
One final final round cos  
Time means nothing,  
Say that you'll stay_

_-After Hours, We Are Scientists_

* * *

They hadn't done this in a while. Actually, not since the surgery. Yeah, sure, Brennan _had_ stayed with him for the better part of three weeks. And yeah, sure, it had been nice.

But that doesn't count.

This was different.

It's different for a lot of reasons.

One: Their third case since Booth's return is officially done, paperwork complete on the coffee table.

Two: She wasn't asked to stay here - it wasn't recommended by a doctor, Booth hadn't even really invited her. They had just picked up paperwork, Thai food, and beer, and he had driven them to his place.

Three: She wasn't worried about him at the moment. She knew that he was okay.

Four: When she was staying here, they hadn't just... let things be. When she'd been staying, they would eat, they would clean up after their meal, they would shower (seperately, unfortunately), and watch some type of sporting event.

Five: When she had stayed at Booth's after the operation, the nights hadn't ended like this.

At first, for them, things were tense. The first day or two, they danced around each other. But this... This was different.

Better, maybe.

Yeah, it could be better.

Maybe.

But tonight, they had gone back to the- his apartement, ate take-out and had a jolly old time. They tried to finish the paperwork for the case, got distracted, tried again. Once it was finally over, signatures signed and all, Brennan got up from her seat on the couch, retrieved them each another beer, and returned.

Booth had removed her tie, and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. His hair was a bit disray from running his hands through it, and Brennan couldn't help but love that she got see this part of him. For someone who is as obsessed about their appearance as Booth, the occasion was rare. Disarming, in the most pleasant of ways, but shocking nonetheless.

Brennan took a sip of her beer, then lowered it into her lap, her small hands circling the bottle. "What time is it?"

"Uhm," Booth said, leaning forward to reach his watch (which had been discarded along with his tie) from the coffee table. "It's... Oh, geez. It's after one."

Brennan groaned. "So, I have to be up, in what... four and a half hours?"

"Ew." Booth shook his head. "We just finished a case, Bones. Can't you take a break, go into the Jeff at around nine-ish?"

"Angela would think I'd been busy having sexual intercourse," she said, raising the bottle back to her lips.

"I'm sure she would," he laughed.

"And, I have a dedication to not only the FBI, but the Jeffersonian as well. Also, my publisher isn't too happy with me."

"That's lame." She nodded. They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes.

"I guess I shoud get going," she finally said. "It's quite late."

"Or early, " he said with a smile. "Depending how you think about it." Brennan rolled her eyes, sighed, and stood. "You know, uh, it's late, and you'ev had a couple of beers. Plus you have no car; I drove you here. You could just, you know, stay." He felt like the invation was out of line. "Only if you want to, of course."

"Would that be alright?"

"Me casa es su casa, Bones."

She smiled, "I didn't know you knew spanish, Booth!"

"I'm not fluent. I can ask where the washroom is, tell you what my name is, order two beers, ask where the chickens are, count to ten."

She cocked an eye brow. "Ask where the chickens are?"

"Donde esta la poyo?" he said with a lopsided smile.

"Why would you need to know how to say that?"

He hesitated, and she retook her seat beside him on the sofa. "You can't tell anyone this, okay? You have to promise..."

"I promise, Booth. I won't tell anyone. Not even Angela."

"I hate chickens. I hate pidgeons. Birds, in general, are not a creature that I enjoy sharing my company with."

Brennan's eyebrows notted together. "You, Seeley Booth, are scared of birds?"

He nodded, blushing slightly. "Birds and clowns."

They sat in the silent apartment for a few moments before she spoke.

"Thank you, Booth."

He turned to her, finding her closer than he remembered from just a few minutes ago. "What for?"

"Sharing that with me."

"I trust you, Bones. More than anyone. You're my bestfirend."

That seemed to catch her off guard. Her eyes widended, her mouth slightly open. Then, as if time didn't run smoothly, she was hugging him. Tight.

Yeah, this was better.

"Thank you," she said, as she loosened her grip. "You're my best friend, too, you know."


	40. Don't Break Me I Bruise Easily

**A/N:**OMG. TWO. MORE. DAYS! GEEEE. I have little excitement seizures everyday. People think I'm epileptic. It's great.

I'm in love with Kina Grannis. That's right, I said it!

_I don't work for free, please take care of me  
Please take care of me_

_This is a message from your heart  
Your most devoted body part  
Taking blood and making art  
This is a message from your heart  
Pounding away into the dark  
You could thank me for a start  
You could thank me for a start_

_-Message From Your Heart, Kina Grannis_

* * *

There are moments in which he says things, just utters the words, and it stops her dead in her tracks.

And even after almost five years, it still amazes her. He can challenge her, inspire her, scare her, humour her, and hurt her with so few words. He can make her feel something she hadn't felt in so, so long. He can stop her where she stands and really make her think about it.

Make her listen.

Make her understand.

There are long conversations that she can recall, in which he helped her see another side, understand another point of view. Conversations in which he renewed her strength, her courage, and helped her stand again. In times like those, she goes to him, vulnerable and broken, and he heals her. Because that's what he knows. He knows how to help her, how to safe her. He knows what she needs to hear, and when and how she needs to hear it.

Or more simply, he knows her.

And she knows this, and she goes to him in her moments of weakness, seeking comfort, and he is always there. Always solid; constant.

But the moments that really make her _feel_, those moments are small.

They're the moments where he can say no more than five words, and he fixes it all.

He can tell her that it'll all be alright, that she's okay.

He can saunter into her office after nearly six weeks, holding up his cocky, confident front, but the second she just looks at him, and he feels it, he can say 'I missed you, Bones'. And she can take comfort in those moments, knowing that someone understands. That she doesn't really need to say anything for him to know.

To know that then, in that moment of weakness, all she could ever need is him.

All she could need is for him to tell her that there is someone for everyone. That those guys don't know how lucky they are. That it's her who's special, not them. All she needs is for him to memorize her reviews, and call her a sexy scientist. To sit in that stupid diner, at that stupid table, eating his stupid pie, with that stupid smile on his face.

All she could ever ask for is for him to sit with her in hospital waiting rooms, silently holding her hand as some doctor operates on her father down the hall. To say that he doesn't care what Angela says, that he's 'with you, Bones, every step of the way."

All she could ever ask of his is for him to let her stay in his life. For him to accept her for who she is, for all that she has accomplished and all she lacks.

Because there are things that he says to her...

Things that really make her yearn, and hurt, and understand what she's missing out on. Because it's all right in front of her; a pretty picture painted with quiet moments, and heartfelt words. Words that hold deeper meaning, words that could be taken out of context. Those of a quiet man; a man with a kind heart, but empty life.

And when he says these things to her, she can't help but hope that maybe there's a hidden message. Something he's not saying. Maybe he's afraid, just like she is. But still, she finds herself thinking that maybe there are words left unsaid in the times of need that they share. Moments that build her trust in him. Moments that make her feel it even more.

And in the hours that they've shared over bottles of beer, and old scotch, moments made up of quiet confessions, and whispered promises, none have left her feeling satisfied. They have left her in shades of doubt. Her efforts leaving her heart tired, rough.

There are times that they've shared that have made her feel wise, and important, and strong.

But the quiet moments - the ones that make her feel - they leave her bruised. Left to carry the heaviest burden she has ever known.

Because while she knows he is devoted, she still feels like the journey for her is endless. That yes, maybe people find their someone, and maybe they get to live happily ever after. But she can't see that for herself.

The moments that they share leave her confused. Empty.

Alone.

And late at night, when she gazes out the foggy windows of his windows, she finds herself weak enough, and somehow brave enough, say it to him.

Please take care of me.

There are moments that make her feel like time is stopping, slowing down. The two often cross paths. The long, detailed ramblings that he says to her during the better part of these shared moments, they're filled of nice ideas, and generic hopes. But the whispered, shy things that he says to her, they find they're way into her heart.

She goes to him in the minutes where she feels completely alone because he know what to say to her, to make her feel better. He knows her, and he knows how to make her understand.

And when she says it, please take care of me, he places her hand over his dress shirt, over his heart.

You're safe in here.

There are moments in she is content to sit with him, feeling his heart pounding under her hand, and feel safe.

Moments in which he says things, just utters the words, and it stops her dead in her tracks.


	41. I'm Right Here I'll Take Care of You

**A/N: **Wow. Okay. aAJDFGADFKGMADFJHAFGLAFHKAFh./

Now that that's out of my system, I can tell you what I really think. I think that Harbingers is a lot like CitC. It was a simple case - nothing complex, pretty obvious, yadda yadda yadda. But, HOLY CRAP there were some moments. If you've watched it, you know what I mean. The one with the clown actually brought tears to my eyes. You'll know it when you see it. I think my favorite is actually when Caroline goes into Booth office. His eyes were _pretty_ red, were they not? I hvae about 3589273458902 things to blabble about, but I don't want to ruin anything for anyone who hasn't had the chance to watch it yet. I can say, though, that Hart must've really thought about this. It's very... safe. There are things that Booth says, ESPECIALLY THE END(!) that are going to (have to be!) brought up again.

He was pretty dishonest with himself throughout the episode, and the end seemed to justify it - at least a little.

Also, if anyone wants to listen to me hate on Sweets for the next week, feel free to PM me, or even just review. ;)

For anyone who reads the Temperance Brennan novels, yes, I know that the character in those books doesn't have this middle name. I changed it. Creative Liberty; I'm taking one. Btw, this is short, I know, but I'll probably end up writing fifty episode tags in the next six days, so uh, tough.

* * *

"What happens eventually," she asked, hurrying after you. "What does that mean?"

You found yourself wanting to speed up - to run away - but your feet slowed as she caught up to you. You shrugged, and she stopped walking again - just like she did with the clown. "What do you mean by settling for the second best?"

"Bones, it's not a biggy; she's totally insane." You're not even able to look her in the eye. "She's a psychic. She's nuts."

"But you're not," she said, grapping your arm with her good one. "You're not insane."

As her grip eases off your arm, you feel the need to keep it there. But she walks towards the elevator, pushing the button with more force than necessary.

The doors open in front of you, and she steps inside. You stand beside her in silence as you descend a floor, then lean your head back against the wall, close your eyes and sigh.

"Sweets told Angela that your middle name is Joseph, you know."

You groan - but all you want to do is laugh, because this is so her, saying such an arbitrary thing just to make you feel better. "She didn't know before?"

You haven't opened your eyes yet, but you can tell she's shaking her head, no. "You asked me not to tell her. For some reason, you find it embarassing." The doors open, as do your eyes, and you see her stepping into the grey parking garage. You follow, stepping a little closer to her. You want to put your hand on her back, but think otherwise; she was just attacked, and you can't help but feel that it would be too inappropriate.

"What's your middle name," you hear yourself asking her once you've both climbed into the Tahoe.

She cringes. "It's not in my file?"

You shrug, "I guess not."

"You can't tell anyone," she says, looking over at you. You reverse out of the parking space, and drive up the ramp. The street lights shine through the car windows and she looks so damn beautiful. "I'm serious. You say anything to anyone."

"Scout's honour, Bones. I promise."

"Maria. Temperance Maria Brennan."

You smile. "It's nice, Bones. Your initials sounds like a TV channel. 'Next on TMB...' A sports channel, for sure. I'd watch it!"

She's laughing, and it's so refreshing to hear. "That's ridiculous, Booth! It does not!"

"Sure. Uhm, The Major's Best, as in Major League. It's catchy. It would work."

She smiles as you park outside your apartment, and she opens up her door. "Was there a game on tonight?"

"There's a ball game on! Maybe we can catch the highlights." You hold open the door for her and she ducks under your arm, a smile painted across her face.


	42. I've Always Wanted You Too Close

**A/N: **This has spoilers for Harbingers, which was my favorite season opener of the whole show. Definitely beat out the Season Four opener. Ew. Anways, if you want to rant about anything, I like to listen, as long as I get to rant back! Also, this is chapter 42. That's the answer. Okay, sorry. Like I was saying, chapter 42; that leaves nine chapters to go. You know what I want? I want to have 206 reviews by the time this is over. Sure, more would be even better. But 206! come one, guys! There are 206 bones in the average human body! I'll love you. You know... in a professional, atta-girl kinda way.

_Let's gather up the pieces  
Of this broken, wilted thing  
It's worth the struggle  
I just ache to touch you  
And I've always wanted you too close_

_And I say why, why, why  
Is it hard to sleep without you?  
I don't mind if you build your dreams around it  
Why, why, why do we waste time?_

-_White Lies, Ron Pope_

**

* * *

**

The monotone ticks that were coming from the other side of the room were getting on his nerves, she could tell. His fingers had started tapping on the sofa's arm in time with the clock a few minutes ago. And _that_ was getting on_ her_ nerves. Not that she could say it out loud. No way.

Because of course there would be some hidden reason behind that, some reason that related to the surgery, or the week thereafter. Or something else that's obviously based on nothing other than Sweets' opinion. "I have a question, Sweets."

"Sure, Dr. Brennan. Remember? This is the Zone of -"

"Yeah, she's got it, Sweets. Circle of Friendship, or whatever," Booth said, making a big show of rolling his eyes, looking over at Brennan.

"Zone of Trust, actually, is what I think it's called, Booth," she said, grinning back at him. He rolled his eyes away from her, and resumed his finger taping. "I was just wondering, when you waste more than half a session, because you want us to sit in silence, well, why do you do that? Because it's a waste of our time," she said, pointing between Booth and her. "And yours, for that fact. If you could just get to the point, and ask us whatever it is you want to know, we would only need to do this once a week, instead of twice. And seeing as you would actually get a intire sessions worth of information, you would never be upset when we suddenly decide we're going to leave five minutes early, clamming that your clock is incorrect. I know you hate that."

Booth looked over at her. "Bones! What the hell?"

Brennan's eyebrows notted. "What? What did I say?"

Booth's eyes rolled once again, and he sighed. "He's not supposed to know that we ditch the last five minutes. Now we're going to actually need to sit here."

"Oh," she said, realizing her mistake. "Sorry."

"I forgive you, Bones."

"So, Dr. Brennan, when do your stiches come out?"

"Tomorrow. Which is a relief. They've become farely itchy as of late."

Silence filled the room again, as Booth continued to tap the sofa's arm - still in tune with the ticks and tocks coming from the clock - which was only interrupted when he looked at his watch. They sat in silence for another few minutes before Booth rose from the couch, reached his hand out to her. "Well, look at that," he said, a smile on his face. "Time to go already." He pulled her from her seat on the couch, and walked her to the door.

"But," Sweets said, "we've stil got fiv--"

"Your clocks wrong, bud. See you Thursday."

"Goodbye, Sweets," Brennan said, smiling at Booth as closed the door behind them.

* * *

Her head felt heavy, the stress that built up over the day residing there, and in her shoulders. She rolled her shoulders back, trying to relief some on the pressure, but found it did little to help.

She looked over at her partner, who had fallen asleep with his feet on her coffee table - even though she always told him to take them down. Her feet were still in his lap, from when he had offered to message them afther she told him she was going to throw the shoes she worn ealier that day into the trash... or just give them to Angela. Because why let them go to waste when she had a friend who shared her shoe size?

His head had fallen to the side during the movie, and she found herself focusing on his chest, moving up and down with each breath. His shoulders looked large against her couch. His tie was on the kitchen counter, along with his jacket. The top two buttons of his dress shirt were undone, and his skin looked even more tanned than it shoud against the starch white of the shirt. Although he had complained that his fantastic, I-can't-work-so-I-don't-ever-need-to-wear-a-shirt-when-I-do-anything tan was fading, she couldn't tell the difference. Stop it, she told herself. What was going on with her?

What was going on with them?

She lifted her left foot from his lap, and he moaned in his sleep. She quickly returned her foot, and slowly relaxed back into the position she had originally held. But she really did need to get up to clean up the beer bottles from the coffee table. And the Take-out boxes should go into the fridge. And she should really write a chapter or two for her editor, because she definitely wasn't happy. She could do all those things, and be responsible, but she was so content to just sit there with him.

She _was_ tired, she reasoned. It would be easy to just fall asleep on the couch with him, regardless of the akward moment in the morning once they both awoke. Because it wouldn't matter if he didn't meet her gaze for five minutes in the morning, before she excused herself to shower, saying he could eat whatever he wanted.

No, that wouldn't matter, because maybe for the first time in almost eight weeks, she might be able to sleep for a solid six hours. Maybe she wouldn't dream about Bren and Mr. B, maybe she wouldn't dream about being buried alive under a fountain, and maybe she wouldn't dream of spending internity in a white hospital room.

She rubbed her temples, hoping for the pain to disipate, just this once. But he really shouldn't sleep on the couch; that couldn't be good for his back. So, maybe her plan was flawed.

She looked at her watch, which told her it was nearly one in the morning. That was late enough to claim that he could just stay here. No biggie, plus he'd had a few drinks. It would be safer. He wouldn't crash because he fell asleep if he stayed at her place, would he? Exactly.

She removed her feet from his lap again, and once again he let out a groan at the loss. She quietly stood, carrying the Thai containers and the empty bottles into the kitchen. She left the bottles on the counter, and folded up the containers, then placed them into the fridge. She turned off lights, locked the deadbolt, and turned off the tv. She hung his jacket and tie in the closet.

When she returned into the living room, one of Booth's legs had fallen from the coffee table and his head was rolling from side to side. He was mumbling something in his sleep. _No_, _don't_, and _stop_, were what Brennan was able to make out. Then _Bones_, and _s'alright_.

Oh, God.

She walked over to him, and his other leg fell from the table, his feet resting on the ground. "Booth," she said softly, as not to startle him. She placed her hand on his arm, and his hand clamped down on hers, holding it tight. "Booth," she said again, with more edge in her voice.

She knew exaclty what he was dreaming (or reliving), and she understood it, clearly.

She imagined herself holding his arm, his large hands covering where the knife had been not long ago, putting pressure on the wound. She could hear him whispering to her. Saying things like Trust me, and I'm right here. She could feel his lips make contact with her head as the adreneline subsided to pain. She felt the hot tears run down her face.

"I've got you, baby..." he said, just as she stepped out of her revirie and said "Booth."

He jumped slightly, his breathing erratic, and his eyes wide. "Bones?" He asked, sounding so... broken that she felt a pang somewhere deep in her chest.

"It's okay, Booth. It was just a nightmare. I'm right here," she said, her hands finding his on their own, weaving his fingers through her own.

"Nightmare," he repeated, assuring himself.

"It was just a nightmare," Brennan said again, assuring herself this time instead of him.

Booth groaned, letting his head fall back onto the couch. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, then sighed. "Does that ever hap--"

"Yes," she said, nodding. "I have nightmares too, Booth."

The hand that wasn't holding hers ran over his face. "Whenever anything happens to you, they're alwa--"

"I know," she interrupted again. "They're always worse."

He nodded, then, "I guess I should go."

She stood, her hand falling from his. The warmth seemed to flee her body.

"You could always stay," she said akwardly. "It's late; you're tired. It's not a problem."

"Yeah," he asked, a slight quiver in his voice.

"Yeah."

They stood in an pregnant silence for what seemed like a decade before she spoke. "I haven't slept more than a solid three hours since..." She took a deep breath. "Since you had your surgery."

Sympathy flooded into his eyes. "Oh, Bones."

"It's not your fault," she said automatically. And it wasn't his fault. He didn't control her subconscience. Although he was apart of it, very frequently. "It's not your fault."

He nodded, understanding that she couldn't handle the intensity that this conversation would bring. "I'll take the couch," he said.

"That can't be good for your back, Booth. C'mon."

"I'm not your guest," he said, "and I can't, as a gentleman, let you make up the guest room. Plus, I'd rather deal with a stiff back tomorrow then but the bed together myself. Don't worry about it, Bones."

"You could always... It's King sized, and there's lots of..." She couldn't form a whole thought. It was ridiculous.

"Yeah? You're sure, Bones?"

"Yeah." What was going on with her?

"Okay," he said, leading the way into her bedroom.

Once they were lying beside each other, in an akward silence, he rolled over to look at her. "G'night, Bones," he said, smiling.

"Goodnight, Booth," she said, reaching acorss the space between them, tightly grasping his hand.

What was going on with them?

**

* * *

A/N:** I love reviews. You know... in a professional, atta-girl kinda way.


	43. Everything That Happens is From Now On

**A/N:**I have much to be doing right now... And yet, nothing's happening there. Of course. How did I know that this would happen? HOW?! But I'm guessing that at least one person is enjoying these speedy updates. Other than me, that is. This chapter is a follow up type thing to chapter 40.

On a less relavant note, to anyone who knows about/listens to Bon Iver/Justin Vernon, please know that I've already got plans to marry him, so, you're too late. Sorry. :)

_This is not the sound of a new man or crispy realization  
It's the sound of the unlocking and the lift away  
Your love will be  
Safe with me_

_-re:Stacks, Bon Iver_

_

* * *

_

There have been moments in my life that have changed things significantly. Moments in which I have paused, simply to realize that what has just occurred has possibly transformed me forever. Times in which I have found comfort in knowledge. Knowledge in what, may vary.

Knowledge that has made such a revalation less pivital. Less significant.

Less permanent.

Because although I am a scientist - and accept change as inevitable - I still loathe the idea that I may wake up tomorrow and not feel the same, see the same, look the same.

Be the same.

Although I accept change as an inevitability, that doesn't mean I have to like it.

But these moments, the ones that stop me where I stand, that keep me up at night, I cannot help feeling fortunate enough to see the change in myself. To be able to think back on one particular second and see into my own character. Knowledge.

I am glad to be able to know myself, and know, maybe not how, but why I may act differently towards a certain subject in the future.

I remember the first week after Booth awoke from his coma. For eight days he genuinely believed (on and off, of course) that we were married.

While I have little faith in psychology, I have faith in Booth. And more importantly, I know him. And when Sweets was saying one thing, I already knew another - the truth. When he was saying that it was simply a manifestation of my novel, I knew better.

I know Booth. And I understand him, which is something completely different, in my opinion.

I know what he wants from life - what he believes he needs for his life to be complete.

And I know that he can feel this thing - the thing that keeps me up at night, the thing that causes my stomach to knot up, that makes my heads clammy and my head spin. I know now that he can feel it too, which makes me know that yes, it could be very real. Knowledge.

While the knowledge that I have concerning Booth's feelings is relatively new, it wasn't sudden. I had assumed that he felt _something_, or maybe I hoped it, but still, I wasn't overly surprised. But my feelings, they weren't a surprise. I'd known for a long time. Just because I didn't tell anyone, or make it obvious, doesn't mean I didn't feel it.

Just because no one knew for sure until I was sitting in that hard plastic chair, that doesn't mean I didn't know. Just because I made it obvious then doesn't mean I need to make it obvious now.


	44. Is Love Alive?

**A/N:**Okay. So. Hmm. Bond in the Boot, I uh, I wasn't feeling it. Not at all. It reminded me of Player Under Pressure. I liked what Brennan did for Wendell, and I liked the Ms. Rolex nickname thing, but otherwise... I don't know. We saw how awesome Wendell is at his job, and how much he deserves to be there, but... DUGARKJAKFDGAITFASDF. I love Character Development, and this episode seemed to be lacking it. However, to all those Gleeks out there, I LOVED that today. Wow. So, anyways, this is me trying to work through what happened in Bond in the Boot. There are spoilers.

* * *

You could feel her muscles tighten as your arm slid around her, your hand running along her side until it reached the valve. You turn on the water, and for moment, felt pride wash over you. You had done it. Properly. And you were been able to teach her about it too, which made all the more fun. But then that pride, well... it just washed down the drain.

Water was getting in your eyes, and she was whining, and getting... was it really squeamish? No, it couldn't be. But she was freaking out, and that was almost good enough. "Booth! Turn it off!" You were chuckling, and she slid out from underneath your sink. "My watch is ruined! Booth, turn it off!"

"Your watch," you say, still fighting off the laughter.

"It's a Ro-"

"Rolex, I know." You reach for the water valve, stopping the water. You sit up and wipe the water from your face. "Sorry, Bones. I didn't mean to, you know, ruin your watch."

"It doesn't matter," she says, but you can tell it's bugging her. She stand and places the watch on the counter. "It's material and unnecessary anyways. I don't need such an expensive watch. I have others, and I can always use my cell phone to tell the time."

"But you liked it, Bones. You should get another one. Did they have, like, a warranty or something on it?"

She shrugs, "it probably doesn't cover water damage."

"Oh," you say, starting to feel really terrible. "I am sorry about that, Bones." You throw her the dish towel you used to fry off your face, and hands, and she wipes her face. "You want a t-shirt or something?"

She looks down, realizes that her blouse is soaking, and nods. "Yeah, that might be much more comfortable."

She follows you into your room, and sits on your bed as you shuffle through your drawers. After a minute or so, you pull out a Jeffersonian t-shirt that she gave you for your birthday the second year you'd been partners. "Here y'go," you say, handing it to her. "I'll just," you start to say, and she looks at you like you've grown a second head. "Yeah, okay," you finish, awkwardly turning and stepping out of the room. You close the door after you, but decide for reasons unknown to you, and leave it open just a crack.

You take a few steps down the hall, then lean your head against the wall, closing your eyes. You could here her standing from where she sat, shuffling around your room. Your hand flexed as it remembered what it felt like under her. _Stop_, you told yourself, but you couldn't help it. Images flashed inside your mind. Images of the two of you walking around in that room, getting dressed, making love, just being there. You banged your head against the wall. _Stop it_. You clenched your fists together, trying to force the memories from you. They never happened. _That never happened, so stop_, you were telling yourself. You took a deep breath and then walked back into the kitchen, stopping first in the bathroom to get a towel.

You dry up the floor, stepping on the towel to soak up all the water. When she walks out of your room, her hair in pulled back in a higher, tighter ponytail than before, and your shirt looks _so damned good_ on her, you just... stop for a minute. Just look at her and smile.

"Looks good," you manage, although your voice sounds a half octave higher than it had just moments ago.

"Thanks," she say. "It's very comfortable." She looks over at her watch on the counter. "I'm not going to buy another one. I realize now that this is just like when they gave me the car; they want me to write even more."

"But you like writing, don't you?"

"Yes," she says honestly. "I enjoy it very much, but I like working with you, and that is my priority. They can wait. It doesn't make a difference, really. At least it doesn't to me."

"Thanks, Bones." A smile spreads across your face. "So, if your not gunna buy a new watch, whatcha going to spend that honkin' big paycheck on?"

"I donated a large amount to The Jeffersonian for scholarships; that way, Wendell can stay."

You feel your heart expand a little bit more because of her. "Bones, that's... Wow."

"I just - I don't even know, I just remembered being just like him, trying to get every scholarship I could, reading every book, every encyclopedia, just so that if it came down to me and someone else, I'd win because I just knew more. I worked hard, and Mr. Bray has too, and he deserves it. He's a good anthropologist. And he's a very nice young man. He's smart, and Hodgins and him get along very wel--"

"Bones," you interrupt, "you're rambling."

She sighs. "Yeah, I know."

"You're very kind, Bones."

She shrugs a bit, as if she doesn't really believe you.

"Seriously," you say, stepping closer. "Bones, wow. You're so incredible, and you don't even believe it. What you did for him, you probably just made him the happiest kid alive. You're giving him a real chance." You take her hand in your own. "Bones," you say slowly, your fingers looping through hers, "Bones, you're so, so kind. So generous."

"He deserves it," she says, finally meeting your gaze.

"Yeah," you say, dropping her hand. "Yeah, he does."


	45. Can Anybody Find Me Somebody To Love

**A/N:** OK! So, The next episode is apparently "quite tragic". I can't remember where I heard it, but I think it was Emily who brought it up in some article, somewhere, at some point. On a less related note...

1) Vancouver's weather is gross when:  
**a)** We get 51 inches of rain in one day, before 6 p.m.  
**b)** My hands are suddenly freezing cold, all the time.  
**c)** I turn on the space heater beside my bed before I go to bed at night, and before I get out of bed in the morning.  
**d)** I drink four cups of coffee, two cups of tea, and one cup of hot chocolate in one day. It's not even 10 yet. I'm still going.

2)I have a hard time writing new chapters, or anything for that matter when:  
**a)** I have to pee all the time because I'm drinking too much coffee  
**b)** My hands are so cold that I can't sit at the computer for more than an hour  
**c)** As a result of (b), I get no homework done, and it's kind of building up  
**d)** I, sadly, get close to no reviews. Although this gives me little inspiration, I don't hold back chapters because of said lack.

Anywho, I'd be very surprised if anyone read that. I feel a bit better now. One last thing! The Glee version of this song is **_SO_**freaking great. I definitely paid the $1.29 for it on iTunes. Warning: There could be spoilers for anything up to **Bond in the Boot.**

_  
I work hard every day of my life  
I work till I ache to my bones  
At the end I take home my hard earned pay all on my own -  
The tears run down from my eyes  
Oh, somebody, somebody  
Can anybody find me somebody to love?_

_-Somebody to Love, Queen_

* * *

You might not know it, but this is hard for me.

It's hard for me to sit on his couch, scotch in hand, and listen to him reassure me that _One day,_ and_ Someone, _are all things that could happen in my life. It's hard for me to sit there afterwards, take a deep breath and hold words inside. Words like _What if_, and _Already gone by_, and _Too late_. That's the hardest. It's after the promises and hopeful glances--after he's told me that there is someone for everyone; that's when I want to cry.

It's hard for me to sit back when he talks about _making love_, and see that he obviously know what that's like, and then realize that we might never have that. It's difficult to see him so... sure that it's true, so certain that that is something that I shall -should- experience. But deep down, I know that I don't want that with anyone but him.

It's hard to sit inside a crowded bar when he tells me with complete certainty that _one day_, he he will get married. He says it without hesitation. As if no matter what happens in the next day, the next week, month, year, he knows what he wants one-hundred percent. That's particularily hard for me. He knows exactly what he wants. And I... well, I know nothing of the sort. I don't have one single clue.

It's hard for me to see him, for a whole damned week, think that we are married. Knowing that he can... _see_ that. _Feel_that. It's incredibly disconcerning. For him to call me something other than Bones, for him to grab onto my hand for no reason, and just run his fingers along my arms. For him to ask me to sit on the bed with him, instead of the stupid hospital chair. For him to mumble into my hair, the words uncomprehendible. For him to offer to massage my shoulders, although he's in the damn hospital. All the little things that he does - all influenced by the dream/novel shenanigan, of course - those things on very, very hard on me.

For him to forget to wear his gaudy sock/tie combo, to not want to go to breakfast, to forget that he _hates_ clowns, those things... they're freaking me out. For him to say _I love you,_ then add _in an atta-girl kind of way, _as if he was trying to lighten the mood, even though I know he doesn't use those words lightly, as if he threw them around every day -which I know he doesn't - that was strange. And uncomfortable. And no less difficult than anything else.

But then, there he goes, telling me _we have no secrets between us, right? _And there I am, nodding, telling him I trust him more than anyone, that I keep nothing from him. But it's all a lie. All of it. Of course I trust him. I trust him more than I trust myself. But that makes me fear what that can do to be/ And although I lose no faith in him, I lose faith in myself. And it's all him who's doing that to me. All him. And I don't keep much from him. There are things about my childhood he doesn't know, and there are things about his that I don't know, but those stories, ultimately, don't really matter. What matters is the fact that I've had the hugest epiphany of my life, and I can't -don't know how- to tell him. It's hard to keep that from your best friend.

So I lie. So what? what the hell difference does it make? I try and I try again, but he doesn't see it. He doesn't know.

He doesn't know that I want him to be my someone, and I want someday to come sooner. He doesn't know that I want him to teach me about making love, to show me that maybe science is wrong, that love is more powerful than the laws of physics. I want him to try over and over again to convince me to marry him, even though I'll say no; even though he knows I'll say no until _someday_. I want him to tell me that he wants to retire early, and open up a nightclub.

I want him to tell me that he loves me, then beat a clown in the face. Then I want to say it back to him. So maybe on the outside it looks like I'm having a dandy old time with my partner, my bestfriend, when really... Really, it's very, very hard to smile about it.

Because what if... What if he's not _my_ somebody? Then do I get nobody? Or do I have to find somebody else? Why can't he see that I need him to be my somebody?


	46. It's All Okay

**A/N:**I know that I like to ramble. And I love that (some of) you guys actually read these insanely detailed author's notes. So! I'm not sure how I feel about Prodigy yet, because I was a little bit distracted. I'm kicking myself for it now, but whatever. I can just watch it again tonight! YAY Canada. From what I got from it, was that it was pretty humorous, for the most part, but as soon as they started talking about the vic, I just wanted to cry. It was so, so sad. My heart is a little bit broken because of it.

Hart and Stephen did their jobs, and they did them well. Is this season starting to feel like Season 2 to anyone else? Woot. But I felt that it was lacking some B/B action. That's the stuff that REALLY gets me writing, but there's not too much I can really do about it. I did like the scene about Brennan and being 22. LOL. She's so dang cute. **This chapter has spoilers in it!**Gah!

Spoiler wise, Booth's grandfather has been cast. We won't be seeing any of Daddy Booth in **Foot in the Foreclosure**, but still... I'm excited. Pops is going to move in with Booth (whom he raised since age 11) again, and try to rekindle their relationship. Gah. I'm too excited. I need to shut up.

* * *

The drive home was silent. Brennan was too broken hearted to say anything, and Booth was just... well, Brennan didn't know what Booth was at the time.

They said nothing as the stepped into the truck, said nothing to each other as Booth lay his head on the steering wheel for a few minutes before starting the car. Brennan said nothing when he reached over and held her hand for just a minute, and she said nothing when she turned to watch the trees pass them by.

She said nothing to him as he sped through the country side, as he probably broke a couple of speeding laws. No. She said nothing.

She said nothing when they were stopped at the first red light, and he started cracking his knuckles, even though he knows that she hates it. She just leaned her head up against the cool glass, letting fall finally start to take its toll on her.

The leaves weren't changing color quite yet, but it would happen soon. The air was starting to smell like fall. When she stepped onto her porch that morning, coffee in hand, she had been able to see her breath. The D.C. rain was becoming more and more common. The wind was getting whisper by the minute.

She suddenly felt impossibly cold. As if it were winter in Alaska and she was wearing a bathing suit. She turned the heat on high, holding her hands infont of the air ducts. "It takes a minute to heat up, Bones," Booth said, keeping his eyes on the road. She, again, said nothing. After a few minutes, she rested her head against the head rest of her seat, and closed her eyes.

She was so... displeased. Not just about the case, but in herself. She couldn't pinpoint as to why, but she just felt so terrible about all of it. The past few months had been incredibly difficult on her -emotionally, of course- and she couldn't help but feeling like something in their partnership still hadn't... clicked. Something was still wrong. But 'Cocky' was back. He was wearing his socks, and his tie. He wasn't letting her drive anymore, and he definitely wasn't letting her ask him if he was feeling alright.

But there was just... something. She didn't know what, but it was something.

She closed her eyes, letting the hum of the SUV and the heat coming from the dash make her eyelids feel heavy. She leaned her head in her hand, and rested against the window. She listened to what was going on in the car. Which was nothing. Booth said nothing, she said nothing, the radio wasn't on and she wasn't going to change that.

"Bones," she heard, and she opened her eyes slowly. "Bones, wakey wakey." She smiled at Booth, realizing that she had fallen asleep. "So I take it you're not up for dinner."

Brennan craned her neck to one sidem causing it to crack. "Why would you say that?"

"Bones, come on. You're beat."

"I haven't been assaulted..."

Booth rolled his eyes at her, and she realized that it was another idiom. "It means you're tired, Bones. As in 'Oh, man, I'm so beat from that run.'"

"I am slightly sleep deprived, but I still need to eat eventually today," she said, cracking her neck again.

"I'm not aloud to crack my knuckles, but you can do that to your neck? That's unfair." He pouted.

"Are you going to buy me dinner or am I going to sleep today without anything but an English muffin?"

Booth's eyes widened. "Bones! All you've eaten today was that damn thing I brought you for breakfast? You're going to die, the rate you're at."

"Actually," she corrected, "The average human being can survive five to seven days without food. So, actually, I won't die."

Booth said nothing, just scoffed as he turned onto Mulberry, and parked outside the diner. They walked in silence from the car to the door, where he held it open for her and she scurried inside the homey eatery. They sat at the counter, and Booth ordered her a cup of tea, and a decaf coffee for himself. "Since when do you drink decaf, Hun?" The waitress behind the counter asked.

"We're just here for a bite, then it's bed time," he answered, charm smile in place.

Brennan leaned forward, and blew air into her fisted hands. "Your hands still cold," he asked, turning to her a bit.

"Yeah," she said, blowing into them again.

"Cold hands, warm heart, Bones. That's how it works."

She opened her mouth to retort him, telling him that is not at all how it works, but he just smiled as he sipped his coffee. He just smiled and it made it all okay. Because it didn't matter if this felt different, wrong.

Because it wasn't.

At the end of the day, it was all okay.

* * *

_I love reviews... In an atta-girl, professional kind of way. ;)_


	47. Love is Not a Victory March

**A/N: **You know what I'm not pleased about? Brennan dating this 'Booth's supervisor' character. I'm raging about it, actually. Unless it ends quickly, causing some serious forward steps for B and B, I'm planning on kidnapping HH. That's how upset I am. WTF. Why, with where the show is at, would they do this to us?

I did like the finale. I really did. But they lied; the got us all excited, all worked up, and crushed it. That's what I hated. I also hated Sully. If this turns into another Sully thing, I might jump off a building. I would rather see them both miserable than with other people. That sounds really, really terrible, but I don't really care. X-files fans get it. Season six, with Fowley. Ugh. She was a crooked bitch, and we all knew it, and still, there Mulder was, gallivanting around with her. Frack. And now. FGJADFKGAIBJEDNDF. I want to punch Brennan in the face sometimes. I hope this is the episode where Angela and her fight, and then Booth can be all upset, and sleep with Angela and then, BAH BAH BAH, _draaaama_. I actually like the idea of Angela and Booth getting together. I don't mean like... a relationship or anything. Just for angst. It could cause a lot of problems.

And Booth's never been the kind of guy to sleep around. So Brennan could just crush him with this boss thingy, and then he could just go to Angela, then SHAPOW, and accidentally sleep with her. They could be drunk or something. That would be good. I bet most of you want to stab me right now. That's cool. Let me know before hand though, so that I can try to run away.

This chapter is completely unrelated to this rant.

I'm done... sorry about that. Do you agree? Disagree? Want to punch me in the face? Let me know! 8)

_Maybe I've been here before  
I know this room, I've walked this floor  
I used to live alone before I knew you  
I've seen your flag on the marble arch  
And love is not a victory march  
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah_

* * *

There are things that everyone learns from their parents, their family.

Things that teach you how to behave in certain situations. Things that teach how to make someone smile. things that help you move past things, live with them. Things that help you act accordingly, think outside the box, respect others, respect yourself. Things that help you to understand not only how, but why.

There are experiences that come with the idea of family that are a large part of different societies, and cultures. Things like enjoying a baseball game. Watching a movie with the people you love -- care about. Experiences like going to the zoo, going for a drive, and eat a sidewalk hot dog. Having a picnic, and playing catch.

Not everyone has to experience these moments to know that they are held high in society's standards. Not everyone knows how to have a normal conversation with a child. Not everyone understands why pizza night is so important.

Not everyone gets to have the perfect childhood, to learn these things first hand. But that doesn't mean they don't see these moments, don't want them.

Neither of them had many of these moments as children, but they still know how to make them happen in adulthood.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Bones," Parker said, dragging out the last syllable for effect. "Do I_ really_ need to go back to mom's house?"

"I, uh..." Brennan looked over at Booth, who simply smiled at her.

"Don't do that to Bones, bub. I'm sure she wants you to stay just as much as I do, but your mom's gunna be here in a couple of minutes. And deal's a deal, right Park? We agreed to go to the Museum, a special tour and all, but only if you were good when it came time to go."

Although Booth was talking to his son in a serious yet relaxed manner, Brennan could see that he didn't want Parker to go. Who would? It was hard to watch Booth's son being taken (although that sounded harsh to Brennan) away.

"You really want me to stay, Bones?" Parker asked, eyes wide.

"Of course," she said without hesitation. Booth smiled. "I enjoy your company very much."

"Yeah?" A smile speared across the young boy's face just as there was a knock on Booth's door. Brennan stood from the couch, for reasons unknown to her, as Booth opened the door to Rebecca.

"Park, go grab your stuff, 'kay," Booth said, turning to talk to Rebacca. Booth leaned against the door frame, talking casualy to his ex.

Brennan stood awkwardly near her partner's couch. She simply stood for a few minutes before she felt a little hand tap the back of her leg. "Bones," Parker said shyly, "I don't wanna leave."

"Why not, Parker?"

"'Cause I like it here."

Brennan smiled. "I like it here too, but I need to go home just like you do."

"But I like it here with you," he said, looking at the floor. Brennan felt like her heart was suddenly too heavy in her chest, too large. She crouched down to Parker's level, and lifted the young boys chin so that he was looking her in the eyes.

"I like spending time with you too, Parker. Very much."

"Parker," Rebecca called from the doorway. "Time to go, buddy."

"Okay," he said, sighing heavily. "Bye, Daddy. I love you." He hugged Booth around the legs. Parker stood beside his mother, handing her his back pack. "Bye, Bones."

"Bye Parker," she said, waving from where she stood.

"I love you, Bones."

Brennan's heart felt like it skipped a beat. "I love you too, Parker."

"Bye Seeley. It was nice to see you, Dr. Brennan," Rebecca said, walking away from Booth's door.

He closed it, and turned slowly. A huge smile was painted across his face. "Bones, I... Wow."

She blushed, sitting back down onto the couch. "What?"

"Just, wow, Bones, really. You're... you're so great."

"You're son is a very smart, lovable boy. Very charming."

"Just like his father, right?" Booth said, raising an eyebrow.

Brennan punched him in the arm lightly. "Shut up."

There was a comfortable silence before Brennan's tone became serious. "I don't know if I could, " she paused, gathered her thoughts. "I think that you are an excellent father. But I don't know if I could do it."

Booth shook his head. "Bones, Parker's crazy about you. You'll be an excellent mother."

It was the first time they'd talked about it since before his surgery. It was strange. She didn't know if he remembered all of it, knew what she'd agreed to at the very end - to not do it. She knew that she could support a child, care for it, but she wasn't sure if she could... just love it. She wasn't sure if she really knew how anymore.

"I was never thought how to care about a child. I had no cousins - well none that I knew of anyways - I was the youngest in our family, I had no friends with younger siblings. Other than Parker... I just... I don't know."

"It's hard, Bones, I'm not gunna lie. It's heart breaking to watch him leave, knowing I'll have to wait a good two weeks before I'll get to see him again. But just seeing him, his little Batman bag hanging off his shoulders, just the pure joy that he can feel, that's worth it. What just happened right here, with you and him, God, that... That's so worth it."

* * *

_Maybe there's a God above,  
But all I ever learned from love  
Was how to shoot at someone who out-drew you  
And it's not a cry you can hear at night  
It's not somebody who's seen the light  
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah_

_-Hallelujah, Leonard Cohen (Covered by Rufus Wainwright)_

**A/N:**Okay, so there are only a few chapters left until this story will forever be completed. I'm getting kind of depressed about it, really. I just wanted to know if there was anyone out there who wanted something specific to be written. I'll take whatever you got. A certain theme, genre, characters, a specific event, whatever you want, I'll write it! If no one wants anything, I'll just go with what I'm feeling. I think I want to do at least one Christmas Chapter, but I might start an Xmas story. Or an actual case story. I had one going a while back, but I don't know what happened to it, lol. My classes are kinda insane as of late, so sorry for the wait. Seeing as I can't even remember when I last updated, I figured an apology was in order. Sorry, guys, you'er all great. So, for the requests... Lemme know? :)


	48. Give Me Sympathy After All This Is Gone

**A/N: **Fail. Big fat stinking fail. I'm sorry. I'm terrible. I don't even have a pretend excuse for you. I just fail. I suck. Mega. Gawd. I kind of feel like Sweets, the word usage and all. That's cool, I guess, so I can't say nothing came out of being absolutely horrible to you. Please forgive me for being so... sucky.

Thank you for all the reviews. 206! YAY. I'm actually the happiest freakin camper in the whole world because of you. The fact that I have the flu, that I'm going to miss my classes today, and that my shift at work was unable to be covered (meaning I have to go in and work, ew), doesn't matter. None of that matters because all of you are so friggin' cool. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

And guess what? I've stopped reading spoilers! I did it! I don't know if I really like it, yet. I like being surprised. But.. gah. I just wanna know what's gunna happen. It was very, very hard for me. But, I did it! Are you proud? Just a little?

If no one's heard the saying "Fit's gunna hit the shan", it's like "Shit's gunna hit the fan", but more... PG. I don't know, my dad used to say it when I was growing up.

Happy (late) Canadian Thankgiving, eh.

_Get hot, get too close to the flame  
Wild, open space  
Talk like an open book  
Sign me up  
-Gimme Sympathy, Metric_

* * *

"There are certain things that people teach you," he said nervously, tilting his glass to the side slightly. "There are thing that people help you learn," he corrected. "I was so freaked about this toast. I must've spent at least a day and half writing it out. But, like I said, there are things that certain people help you learn. Like the fact that I don't need this stupid piece of paper covered with nervous ramblings." He re-folded the paper and stuck into the pocket of his suit jacket.

"Certain people are able to teach you more than others, and certain people excel in understanding certain things better than others. I can accept that, and I stand by it. I know that these two, " he said, pointing at Angela and Hodgins, "have taught me more about waiting for what is right than I could ever have imagined possible. They love each other so damn much, but they were so damn scared - scared to ruin it ... again, " he added with a laugh. "Or scared to get it so... so right that it might never be able to be better... I don't really know. But look at them now. They're completely in love and embarrassed as Hell. Jack's probably gunna kick my ass.

He looked around the bar, smiled as he caught Brennan's eye, and starightened his back.

"Cam taught me that it's never too late to find what you'd been missing. No matter how far away it seemed to be. That's an important one, I think.

"And all these Anthro-wanna-be freaks, they're fantastic, but they're pretty weird. Brilliant in an off-setting kind of way, almost. While I enjoy their company very much, they taught me that it's possible to miss something that... that I didn't even know I liked, had. Them constantly rotating... It reminds me that there isn't that constant in my life that I took for granted.

"Zach's a good kid. He screwed up, but that doesn't mean we don't all care about him. Hell, I never really talked to the guy, but I sure wish that I had now that I know I can't.

"And Sweets. Well, he's an awkward one, but he's damn good at his job."

He paused and looked into his beer glass. A small smile reached the corner's of his lips. "I am a really lucky guy, I've decided. I get to work with all these brilliant people. These people here have taught me so, so much. But there's one person in particular that has helped me... evolve in such a... profound way; I don't know if I could ever repay her.

"She's my best friend. Probably the best friend I've ever had. She's so brilliant, it just... it stops me dead sometimes. Like I can't believe that someone could ever know _so _much. Sometimes, you know, she just gets this look that says that if she can't get what she wants, she'll kick my ass so I'll get out of the way so she can go and get it. That's one of the best things about her, though. If she's got a problem with someone, she won't hesitate to let 'em know. It's scary sometimes, 'cause I'm pretty sure one of these days someone's gunna tell her what they think about her, and well... fit's gunna hit the shan.

"Now I kinda wish I'd stayed with my silly rant of a toast, because I don't really know where I'm trying to go with this. Maybe that's actually a part of it, though. This fantastic woman right here, she never fails to put me in my place. I get ahead of myself a lot, and she'll stop me, set me straight.

"She's very... black and white. But in a good way. She's not too good with 'in between'. She believes in justice, and order, and when the lines bend, or get washed away a little, it throws her a bit off kilter. But she gets it, I think. She knows that once you've mixed black and white, no matter what you do, you're only ever gunna get a different shade of grey.

"Like I said, she's freakin' brilliant, yet she's got this thing with Pop Culture. Last week, she heard about Survivor for the first time. God, she hates that show. When I made her watch it, she raged for the whole hour, and probably the next day and bit afterwards. She was so... upset. She kept using words like 'moron', and 'baboons', and 'who-the-hell-would-watch-this?' And that's pretty funny. I mean, I was expecting her to be absolutely appalled, but I pictured her going all... angry-anthropologist on me. Instead she was just insulted at the stupidity of the show.

"She's helped me learn that people are a constant surprise. Everyday she does something... it could be the smallest thing, too, but it just... amazes me. Everyday, she amazes me. I'm so damned proud of her. When I think back to when we first started working together... Oh, God, she hated me. She'd mumble things like 'ass,' and 'neanderthal,' under her breath. And then I look at her now. I look at how much she's changed. What she's been through since then. How she's changed me. She's accepted me for who I am, and I am forever thankful for that fact.

"I'm thankful for the fact that she's even letting me go on like this, because I swear to God, after this, when everyone's minding their own business, she's gunna give me a serious ass-whooping. So, I guess I should finish this up. I have a tough-guy image to uphold, and I don't think I'm doing myself any favours.

"So, Bones," he said, looking her dead in the eyes, and smiled. "Know that you have people who admire you, support you, and love you, probably more tahn you could ever know. Happy birthday," he said, taking a sip of his beer as everyone else raised their glasses.


	49. If Love Is So easy, Why Is This Hard

**A/N: **Wow, there are only... two more chapters after this one. That's so sad. I'm actually kind of depressed about it, to be honest. What am I going to do?! I feel like I'm fated to aimlessly wander for eternity. This sucks.

Anyways, Bones is on tonight for us Canadians, eh, so that's good news. I'm SO excited about tonight's episode. I don't know why. All I know that I for see it being absolutely awesome! :)

This chapter is actually my attmept at guessing what's going to be going on tonight (or tomorrow if you're in the U. S. of A.). It takes place inside Booth's head, where - I think - he's actually a guy: All vulgar, jealous, angry and junk. Thus, there is some harsh language. I apologize if that's not your thing.

_Over and over and over again  
I try to make amends  
For everything I've done wrong  
My whole world just spins  
Make some coffee, hold me up  
Try and talk me out of giving up  
I'll come back to you  
It'll be brand new  
But I promise  
We're just friend_

_-We're Just Friends, Wilco_

* * *

"You field agents get to have all the fun," Andrew says, and I want to throw him through a fucking wall. I'm remember now why I hate this guy. He's the douche bag who schedules meetings at 5:30 in the goddamn morning. He's the guy that's always staring at Bones' ass. He's the fucking desk jockey asshole who took Cullen's job the second it was available. He didn't send him a card, didn't take him out for coffee, didn't even go to his daughter's funeral.

What. A. Dick.

I smile and nod and I guess that's what the fucker wanted, 'cause he's finally leaving. Finally. I know how to do my job, so why's this idiot coming into my office, trying to push me around? You don't get the best close rate in the whole Bureau by being a moron. I know my shit. I know that I know my shit, which is what I think freaks people out.

Bones is like that too. Jesus, she knows her shit. People almost hate her for it. Two peas in a pod, I guess.

Andrew's walking back down the hall, again, and I swear to God, if he opens up my door I'm gunna punch him in the head. Oh, yeah, there it is. "Sorry to bother you again, Agent Booth."

You should be, you dumb fuck. "It's not a problem sir," I say, but I don't stand. "What can I do for you?"

"I was just wondering if you got the memo about the budget meeting for next Thursday."

I sure did. God, this guy, I swear, he must not have a brain cell to spare. No one, not even a FBI Agent with little to no social life, wants to come into the Hoover at quarter to six in the morning. Not for fun, and especially not for a stupid budget meeting. "Yes, sir, I did."

I'm standing so I can lead him out of the room, but he's stopped, and turned around to face me again. "Also, I was wondering if it would be alright with you if I called Dr. Brennan?" Why the hell would he need to call her?

"Why would that be a problem, sir?"

"Some people would be weirded out if their boss asked their partner on a date. I'm glad it's not-" He kept talking, but I'm not listening. A date? What? Shit.

I try to clear the lump in my throat and say something along the lines of _it's fine_ or _not a problem_, but I'm not too sure. I walk him to the door, and maybe close it a bit too roughly, but tough shit for him. Well, actually, tough shit for me. He wants to take Bones on a date? Jesus Christ. She'll say yes too, because that's what she does. She's got a problem with being too nice, I think. Or too curt. I don't really care. I mean, it's Bones, so I love it no matter what the hell she acts like.

But last time, with that blind physicist asshole, she said no. God, please let her say no.

I stand and walk down the hall to Sweets' office. Charlie nods at me on my way, and I try to nod back. I consider getting a cup of coffee on my way, too, but decide against it. I'll get some later.

I walk into his office and slam the door just a little bit lighter than I did to my own. He looks up, a little startled, then relaxes. "Hey, Booth, what's up?"

How the hell can I explain this to him? "Is it... is it weird for me to fell weird about my boss asking Bones on a date?"

The kid's eyebrows crinkle, and then relax. "Not really. That would depend on what you mean by "weird," of course. But to feel awkward about it, or nervous, no. It's not out of the ordinary." And he thinks he's a good psychologist. I mean, I've got Angela telling me every goddamn day to hope inside Bones' pants. And Cam... well, if Cam can tell, surely this guy's got to. I know how I feel about her, but I'm the one feeling it.

"'Kay, thanks, Sweets."

****

"So, Brennan's on her date, huh?" Angela asks me as she slips into the chair across from me. You know, you'd think there'd be someplace other than my apartment where I could be alone. Apparently not.

"I guess." I shrug, and she rolls her eyes.

"You guess? You, Seeley Booth, do not guess."

I look up at her, and shrug again. She gives me this look... it's making me feel so fucking pathetic that I just look back down at my cup of coffee. I take a sip, and the young waitress comes over to our table. Angela orders a green tea. Normally, I'd make some lame joke about hippie shit, and she'd laugh then proceed to tell me how virtues it makes her feel. Normally. But right now we both know that I'm way too fucking down on myself to make a joke.

"You know it's not going to work, right?"

I look up at her again, and she's smiling. "How could you possibly know that?"

"'Cause," she says, her smile growing. "You're not going to let it."

"And why would I do that?" I ask, looking back down at the cooling coffee mug that's in my hands.

"Because you're Booth, and she's Brennan. And for you to ever get your shot, this asshole has to lose his."

"We're just friends," I say, and she scoffs. Loudly.

"Bull shit. You two are so full of it, you know? It's gotten totally fucking insane." Angela swears like a trucker. All the time. Well, when she's not at work she does. She's good at being professional. I guess that would come with a rock star father. "You need to get your shit together, pal, or else this guy... well, he's zoomed you already."

"Ange," I say, and I don't know if it's a warning or a plea.

"No, you listen to me, and you listen good. Got it?" I'm not saying anything, and she must take it as a sign to continue, when really I just wish she would stop. I just want all of it to stop. "You try and sit here and tell me she doesn't give a shit about you. Just try it." She pauses again, for effect I guess, and then she's going again. "See? You see? She said she wasn't gunna have a baby if it wasn't with you. She was so goddamn scared that she didn't even care anymore. All she wanted to do was make sure you were okay. You know what happened when they were prepping you? She came out to where we were all sitting, and she tells us you've got some big honkin' tumor the size of a fucking orange inside your head. Or at least that's how big it sounded when she used all her stupid medical jargon. And then after Sweets had his little freak out, she just stood there. Just for a second, and I knew. She was scared. Shit less. I hugged her, and I think that's when she really started to freak. 'Cause next thing I know, she's backed away, and she's starting to cry, and then she says the saddest thing I've ever heard. 'This isn't about me.' She said it and all we could do was nod. Because of course it was about her. It was all about you, which makes it all about her. So you try. You fucking try to tell me that she doesn't care. That she doesn't love you."

I don't even know what the hell she wants me to do. What the fuck am I supposed to do? I must've said it out loud, because she looks sadder now, and she sighs. "Booth..."

"He's such a fucking dick, you know? Everyone hates him. He's like... Remember how much Bones hated Cam when she first started? It's like that, but with everyone. Everyone. But Bones... Well she's being Bones I guess. I don't fucking know. I think maybe it's just easier if I stop, just let her be happy. Who am I to stop her?"

"You are not giving up. Booth, think about it. This is Brennan we're talking about. She's blind as a bat when it comes to stuff like this. She'll come around, it'll just take some time."

"You know, I can't imagine not spending time with her."

"Exactly."

"That's why it's better this way. It's too hard." It's too fucking hard. "It's too hard thinking that maybe, just maybe, there could be more. At least this way, I can reassure myself -promise myself, really- that we're just friends."


	50. Conversations That Don't Exsist

**Author's Note:**

Dear Hart Hanson,  
You're cool.  
Thanks, D.

I loved last night's episode. Wasn't Brennan's absolute glee just so fantastic? She's so adorable. Gosh, I love her. I definitely wanted to punch her in the faces for the whole egg thing, but she's so... oblivious, it's so cute. There's mention of the egg in this story, so I apologize if you haven't seen the episode yet.

This is going to be the final author's note for this story. Yes, there is one more chapter after this, but I think that it should be a chapter. A story. Not a document that's half filled with my crazy, over-emotional ramblings.

There are probably a million things I want to tell you right now, but I think I'll keep it as short as I can.

I love this show, I love the characters, and I love you.

I hate baseball. Well, okay, that's a lie. I love baseball, too. But I hate what it's doing to Bones. :(

But anyways, you are all great. Just... Thank you.

Also, I don't own Bones. Sad, huh?

_Oh my hands which hold this face,  
make this grasp a tight embrace.  
Walking feet don't lose your pace,  
you've moved so slow but won this race.  
__Hello heart you're a bumbling mess,  
You beat and beat right out of my chest._

_-Hello Bones, Jeff Pianki_

* * *

After so long, you sort of just... stopped.

You stopped a lot of things.

The first thing you stopped doing was protecting yourself.

Because eventually you realized that you didn't matter. Not when she was there.

Then you stopped lying to yourself. One night, you just stopped pretending that you didn't love her.

You were sitting on your couch, watching the Yankees kill the Red Sox.

She was sitting beside you.

Then she cheered when Derek Jeter hit a home-run.

Then you just realized there was no point in lying about it.

You loved her.

You loved every single thing about her.

The third thing you stopped doing was denying it out loud. You might have avoided it, but you never said no.

Someone would say "you've got the hots for her," and you'd say "we're just partner's."

And you were. She was just your partner.

Well, she was your best friend, too, but they don't need to hear that.

Then something else stopped you.

Literally.

They cut into your head and they screwed something up that stopped all of it.

Ended all the progress you'd made.

Erased every moment.

All of it, gone.

And then she'd gone and talked about your mom.

To your boss. No, to your boss's boss.

And then you had tried to tell her, tried to get her to see how much that hurt.

How deep it cut you.

You didn't tell anyone about your mom.

No one.

But you had told her once, and she hadn't realized that it was so important.

And you just stood there, staring at her. Trying to get her see how much you hated this.

How much you hated Hacker. How much you hated this whole situation.

You hated that you couldn't hate her, too.

Stupid love. If you had just kept lying to yourself, it would be okay.

And then Hodgins walked in, and the anger, the hate, it kind of stopped.

And then she tried to apologize, and you realized you weren't even mad anymore.

How could you be?

This is always how it happened.

That's how it happened with Jared, too.

She'd gone and made you want to jump off a bridge.

But then she came out asking if you need _time and space_, and you realized that was why you loved her.

Because for someone who really just sucked with people, she was good with you.

She might say the wrong thing more times than not, but moments like that...

She was so good at _you._

That was why you loved her.

Because she'd come out and sit beside you, and share a piece of cake with you.

She would know that you wouldn't be able to go back into that bar.

Not then anyways.

And she would know that when you said it -_ My dad drank_- you would need for her to say nothing.

And now she was up there, talking about how everyone should have a chance to be heard.

She was up there, and you were sitting with all your friends at a huge event that was all for her.

You were sitting there listening to her talk and you realized that a long time ago, you sort of just... stopped.

You stopped going to work because you had to, and started going because it meant you'd see her.

You stopped eating Chinese food because you didn't want to cook for yourself, and started eating it because she liked take-out.

You stopped reading her books so you could tease her about them, and started because you were so goddamn proud of her.

You stopped treating your life like a sprint, and started treating it like a marathon.

You learned to take it slowly. One step at a time.

The two of you stopped walking alone in life. You started a pace.

A slower pace, but you started it together.

So, yeah, you stopped.

You stopped and were stopped and your heart was a total mess.

But one day, one day soon, you would start again.

But this time you would start with her, and it would make all the difference.


	51. I Wish We Could Open Our Eyes

**A/N:**

_Sorrow drips into your heart  
Through a pinhole  
Just like a faucet that leaks  
And there is comfort in the sound  
But while you debate  
Half empty or half full  
It slowly rises your love is gonna drown_

_Your love is gonna drown  
Your love is gonna_

-The Marching Bands of Manhattan, Death Cab for Cutie

* * *

Things happen slowly. Certain things need time to boil, to brew, until they're ready. Some of these things are worth the wait.

Most of these things are complicated, and intense, and so goddamn painful. They make us want to cry, and scream, and punch holes into walls. They make us want to jump, and laugh, and just smile. They make us grateful, happy, but they also somehow manage to make us regret so much. They make us want to hide. They make us vulnerable, and open, and so stupid.

But they're worth it. These things that do all this stuff to us... these things are worth it.

These things are worth it because for every moment that we suffer, every moment that we wish that we could just have a little bit more, there will be moments, eventually, when you look back and realize that if you hadn't wanted more, hadn't loathed that you didn't have more, then there are a thousand other moments you wouldn't have. Moments that say _Sometimes I think you're from another planet. Sometimes I think you're really very nice. _Moments that say _That's a lot of heart_, and_ Someday, you will. I promise. _

For every time we almost do something to maybe change things, we hesitate. Even for just a second, and it changes everything. That second can decide wether or not you're really ready to bear your soul, empty out your heart and lay it all down for someone else to see. We think about the _what-ifs_, and the _maybe-I-shouldn'ts_, not because we're cowardly, but because we are brave. We know that we want it, but we give it up anyways. Because we know that in the end, in the grand scheme of the universe, we don't matter. Because if that one person doesn't want it too, then it doesn't matter.

Yes, to him, she matters. And to her, he matters. And that last trip to the hospital matters, and the trip before that. And the one before that. Because they were filled with moments. Moments, memories, that flow like water. The memories that they so desperately cling to, because what if they don't get more?

What if he's always too scared, and she's always too rational? What then?

Because, yes, she might not believe in all the things she feels, but she feels them, nonetheless. That's something she's been doing a lot of lately. Feeling. She knows that it's illogical, to feel _so_ much. She has theses memories, and they make her feel so much.

So much more than she thinks anyone could understand, because really, who could?

Who knows what it's like to think _Oh, God, maybe I do love my best friend, _and _What if they don't feel the same_? Maybe she's not the only one who feels it, maybe we all do, but she can't really be certain. Because she's never felt that before, and it throws her off kilter. A lot.

And these things, these things that throw her so off kilter, that confuse her so much, and make her want to just scream because they feel so irrational; these are the things that he calls love. These are the things that make him say _This is worth it. _The things that make him refer to 103 inches of flat screen TV, and talk about a house that is _ours_ and _we_ and all of the things that they aren't. These things, the ones she doesn't really understand, she think that maybe they're worth all the trouble.

But it's hard for her to tell sometimes. Sometimes she has to stop feeling, and think. Rationalize. Sometimes she does need to make it logical. Because sometimes it's hard to tell if it's all worth it; if it's worth the struggle, the despair, the sorrow. The emptiness. And sometimes, it does look empty. The pursuit looks endless, unworthy, pointless. Ephemeral. Sometimes it's hard for her to see if a certain situation is a good thing- if the cup is half empty, or half full.

She thinks that maybe she's starting to understand that things take time -- good things take time. And sometimes you have to go into it without knowing if it will all end up okay, because maybe it's worth it. She understands that we can't all have everything, but she thinks that there are somethings, certain things, that everyone should get to have, get to feel.

She thinks that maybe everyone should get to feel so stupid, so lost because of the way that someone else makes them feel.

People should have to wait for the good things, because good things do come to those who wait. People should hvae bad things happen to the people that they love, only so they can realize what they really have. People should be grateful for the people and the memories that they do have, because she's learning all too quickly, too vividly, that eventually those things do stop.

People die, and people change, and people lie, and they hurt you. But sometimes there is one person, just one, who doesn't.

Maybe that one person can be a thing, maybe they can be one of those things that are slow; one of those things that take time to brew, to boil.

Because she's starting to think that maybe he is one of those things that make her thankful, and angry and totally fucking crazy. Maybe he is one of those things that make her cry, and talk about her time in the system, and that one time she had that job the Dairy Queen down the street. He is one of those things that make her want to punch him in the face, and lie with him late at night. One of those things that makes her realize that even though she won't watch a 103 inches of TV, he will, so she might as well splurge and buy it anyways.

And she has these moments that she can fall back on, these memories, that make her think _what-if_, and _maybe_.

The memories that she has... they make her rely, depend, on someday.

Because no matter how long it takes for someday, and eventually, to arrive, she thinks that maybe it's worth it.

* * *

**FIN**


End file.
